Inevitable
by InfamousSharo
Summary: At the behest of Akatosh, Liv the Last Dragonborn breaks Miraak out of his imprisonment in Apocrypha using a Shout, which results in a pissed off Daedric Prince and a powerless First Dragonborn. Full summary inside.
1. Chapter 1

Full summary:

At the behest of Akatosh, Liv the Last Dragonborn breaks Miraak out of his imprisonment in Apocrypha using a Shout, which results in a pissed off Daedric Prince and a powerless First Dragonborn. Out of pity and guilt, Liv refuses to leave the First on Solstheim and convinces him to come with her and her brother to Skyrim, a decision she begins to regret when she realizes that even powerless he's more trouble then he's worth.

Liv's problems only multiply when she, her brother, and their troublesome new companion, return to Skyrim to find that the entire population of Dawnstar has mysteriously gone missing. An investigation leads to something more sinister in the subterranean bowels of the province. A war is coming, and it's going to take two Dragonborn and another ceasefire between the Imperials and Stormcloaks to stop it.

* * *

 **Greetings fellow readers and writers of fanfiction!**

I have a confession to make: I'm one of those people who had no idea what the Elder Scrolls series was until Skyrim came out. I played the game last year and, like many of you, loved it in spite of its lack of good, solid characters. This story was born of that love and from the fact that, aside from Paarthurnax (who makes me wish dragons were real), Miraak (who makes me glad Dragonborn aren't real) was really the only character with potential. But alas—spoiler alert—ol' Hermie killed him. A goddamned shame. But that's why we have fan fiction, to explore the realm of What If That Didn't Happen But This Did.

Anyway, just a few things worth mentioning before you dive in:

*If you're strictly into the canon/lore stuff, this story isn't for you. There will be head-canons and creative liberties everywhere. You've been warned.

*Everything but the Civil War has been done and dusted by the Dragonborn in this story.

*I'm using the edit-as-you-go method of writing, so updates will be utterly unpredictable.

*Feedback and such are always welcome; it does, after all, feed the weird machine that is my brain.

That all being said…

Enjoy.

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

* * *

 **Liv** Night-Born and her brother Leif traipsed side-by-side through a forest of snow-laden pine trees, searching for a good spot, somewhere secluded where there was little chance of anyone other than her sibling witnessing what she was going to do.

"You don't even have a plan for this, do you?" Leif asked as he pulled his cloak around him more securely to keep the persistent wind from snagging it back. It wasn't really a question, but more of a rebuke masquerading as one.

"I think you know by now the answer to that is 'no'," Liv replied. She knew what she had to do and she had the means of doing it, but she hadn't bothered to plan out how to get from Point A to Point Z. She never did, really. Planning things out was more her brother's strategy. Liv preferred to play it by ear. Plans were always doomed to fail and you were going to end up having to improvise anyway, so why not just save yourself the trouble and wing it from start to finish?

Leif sighed, a sound that was half exasperation and half worry. "Well, you _should_ have a plan. You're about to face another Dragonborn and a _Daedric Prince_. This isn't the time for spontaneity. You need to be fully prepared for this because your adversary will be ready too, you can count on that."

"Well, the way I see it, if I don't know what I'm doing then neither does Jumped-Up Prick."

And by 'Jumped-Up Prick' she was referring to Miraak, the first dragon to have his soul crammed into a mortal body, a Dragon Priest of some notoriety, and the great pain in Liv's arse. Bad enough the bastard had managed to control the minds of Solstheim's people while imprisoned in another realm, but ever since their first brief meeting in Apocrypha, he had been showing up in ethereal form almost every time Liv defeated a dragon and for no other reason than to taunt her and poach the dragon's soul for himself. Liv considered herself to be a calm person, composed at even the worst times, but this…oh, _this_ maddened her to no end.

Leif stared at her in astonishment. "That has got to be the most piss-poor strategy I've ever heard. Remind me again how you've managed to survive this long."

Liv grinned. "Well, I've had you to help me for one thing, and I've _improvised_ for another. Plus, Akatosh."

"Your god is the reason why you're in this mess in the first place," Leif scoffed, not caring in the slightest that it bordered on blasphemy. He was mostly a Talos-worshipping kind of guy, with the exception of a few old Nord gods. "This Miraak is only half the battle. Actually, he's probably a little less than half the battle. Improvising may give you an edge over him, but it won't against Hermaeus Mora, the _all-knowing_ Daedric Prince."

That wasn't necessarily true. Liv may have despised the man, but she wouldn't dare write off Miraak as 'a little less than half the battle'. He featured as a frighteningly powerful figure in the Skaal's legends, those Nords of Solstheim and perhaps the only people in existence who'd bothered to remember him. In those stories he was referred to as the Traitor, a Dragon Priest who'd sworn his service to Hermaeus Mora for power and then used that power to turn on his dragon overlords. It was said that when Vahlok, a Dragon Priest known as the Guardian in the tales and the good to Miraak's evil, had confronted him, a battle ensued that lasted days and was so destructive it ripped Solstheim from the rest of Skyrim, which was how it came to be a large island sitting off to the northeast of the province. Whether or not that was true Liv didn't know. There were some who thought it was an embellishment or outright fantasy. Liv hoped it was, as she would prefer her adversary _didn't_ have the kind of awesome power that could knock off a portion of her homeland.

Leif was right about Hermaeus Mora, though. As the Daedric Prince of Knowledge and Fate, there was a high probability he would know what she was planning to do. Worse, Liv could do absolutely nothing about it, could not even prevent it from happening. This was not just a task Akatosh had given her, but also a test of faith. Liv was going into this blind but for her faith that Akatosh was not sending her to her death or to share Miraak's fate as a prisoner of Apocrypha.

"Faith is my edge, brother," Liv said as she and Leif came upon a small clearing in the snow-heavy forest. "Akatosh is with me, and so long as I keep my faith in Him, I'll be fine."

Leif frowned. "You could die."

"Aye, but I don't think I will." Liv stopped at the center of the clearing and looked around. "I think this place is as good as any; no one's likely to come upon us way out here." Doing this in secret was for the sake of herself and everyone on Solstheim, or so she told herself. Her task may have been divine-given, but many if not all of the people on the island would likely view it as a betrayal. But what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them, right? Liv had no idea how she was going to continue to keep it secret when it was all done, though.

"And if they do, I'll send them on their way," Leif assured her as he slung his knapsack off his shoulder and dropped it on the ground.

Liv did the same, dropping her pack beside the trunk of a tree. Then she knelt down and opened the flap, reaching inside. What she pulled out was perhaps the ugliest book she had ever seen, with the exception of the _Oghma Infinium_ , which was bound in the flesh of people, a patch of skin from every race of man and mer. This book was thick, bound with some dark, rough material Liv could not identify. On the front there was a crude engraved image of a many-tentacled monster, an icon of Hermaeus Mora. It was one of his Black Books—what Liv had come to think of as _the_ Black Book of Black Books. Ageless, foreboding, and infused with strange, dark magic, the tome served as a kind of portal into the Prince's realm of Apocrypha, a nightmarish 'library' where strange, macabre monsters stalked halls constructed of oversized books.

Liv straightened up, looked down at the hideous book in her hands, and heaved out a sigh. "Well…no time like the present, I guess."

A hand fell to her shoulder and squeezed lightly. Liv looked up into her brother's face, at his grim expression and serious green eyes. "I would follow you in there if I could," he told her, and Liv knew he meant it with his whole heart. They had always been inseparable as children, even though Leif had five years on her. _Attached at the hip,_ their father had liked to say. They had learned and fought and played together, and when one found trouble the other was always there to pull them out of it. Liv looked upon Leif not only as her big brother, but her best friend, as well.

Liv smiled and nodded, patting the hand on her shoulder. "I know. It'll be fine, Leif. Stop worrying so much."

"I'm merely making up for _your_ lack of concern, dear sister. May the gods protect you—I get the feeling you're gonna need them." Leif gave her shoulder a final squeeze, and then stepped back.

Liv took a deep breath of cold, fresh air, holding it inside her for a moment. Then she released it and opened the Black Book called _Waking Dreams_. She got a brief glimpse of words written on the ageless pages, and then Hermaeus Mora literally welcomed her with open arms—all black, slimy _six_ of them. The writhing tentacles slithered out of the pages to embrace her, and then she was gone.

* * *

This spot of bother had all started when Miraak AKA the First Dragonborn AKA the Traitor AKA Jumped-Up Prick sent a pair of his inept, badly dressed cultists to try to assassinate her, and only days after Liv had learned she was Dragonborn.

She had gone up to the Throat of the World to learn from the Greybeards how to use her gift to Shout like the dragons do, and upon her return to Ivarstead, a small village at the base of the mountain, she found the underlings there looking for her. They had mentioned Miraak by name and called her rude things like 'Deceiver', right before she killed both with a two-Word Shout and a handful of magic. This 'Miraak', whom she had never heard of before, let alone provoked in any way, had apparently crowned himself the True Dragonborn and declared her the 'False', for which she must die. Liv saw this as a gratuitous affront (because merely existing was no reason to insult someone or try to have them killed) and a direct challenge, of which the former would not go unpunished and the latter was gladly accepted. Or so it had been at the time.

Liv had found the written kill order on one of the dead cultists, pointing her in the direction of Solstheim. So, after vanquishing Alduin World-Eater and some other evils (because Nordic gods of destruction intent on devouring the world and vampire lords wishing to darken the sun came before jumped-up pricks wanting her dead for being alive), she finally got around to investigating it, and uncovered a more sinister plot by said prick to free himself from Herma-Mora's realm, take over the island, and eventually all of Tamriel—because these days that's what _all_ the villains are doing—and that only gave her more reason to see him dead.

Cue the plot twist.

While Liv had been following in Miraak's footsteps, learning what he'd learned so she could _properly_ pulverize him, Akatosh, the God of Time, Noble Ruler of the Divines, and Maker of Dragonborn, had come to her in a dream-vision, not for the first time. Where Hermaeus Mora wanted her to kill the man and take his place as his Champion, the God of Time wanted him freed from Mora's realm for reasons He had not been forthcoming with. Divines were funny that way; sometimes merciful, sometimes merciless, and They never had to explain Their logic. Perhaps because Their logic was not meant to be understood by mere mortals, or perhaps that logic simply defied mortal understanding. This task certainly defied _hers_. Liv was of the opinion that Miraak had earned his spot in Oblivion, but then who was she to question her god, the god Who had made them both?

And now here she was, traveling from one realm to another, carrying in her mind the powerful Shout Akatosh had given her to do His cryptic bidding.

Liv suffered the unpleasant feeling of being taken apart and put back together again—the feeling that always came with leaving one realm for another—and then Apocrypha, Herma-Mora's little corner of Oblivion, unfolded around her. A thick, endless sea of green-black ooze and an arabesque platform made of what might have been dark steel—but could have been anything in this realm—spread out beneath her feet; a sky of sickly yellow charged through with swirling ribbons of revolting green appeared above her head; walls and towers of huge, ageless books were thrown up in every direction; and cyclones of yellowed book pages whirled across the eerie realm. As if the 'landscape' wasn't bad enough, Liv knew Mora's unholy guardians, the lurking Lurkers and the seeking Seekers, were out there somewhere, just waiting to harass her.

* * *

Four Lurkers (two of which provided a _very_ close call for Liv), fifteen Seekers, one annoying puzzle a five-year-old could have solved, and several trips through Mora's weird chapter portals later, Liv the Last Dragonborn reached a large platform where a Word Wall sat, guarded by two _more_ Seekers. And behind it, across that black sea and rising high into the diseased sky, was the towering summit of Apocrypha, where the nefarious First Dragonborn waited.

A part of her had always been a bit… _intrigued_ , Liv had to admit. Jumped-up prick or not, he was like her, and it wasn't everyday you met another Dragonborn face-to-face, or _at all_ ; as far as she knew the meeting of two Dragonborn had _never_ happened before. Certainly this would be a moment for the history books and the bard songs, always assuming they made it out of this pit alive and Jumped-Up Prick didn't kill her on the spot if they did. She was acutely aware that this could all go wrong in so _many_ ways.

The Seekers, strange floating creatures with multiple arms, a head of writhing tendrils, and a gaping mouth of many razor-sharp teeth at the center of the chest, wasted no time attacking her, letting off their eldritch waves of vitality-sucking magic. Liv dodged the first wave and scrambled away from the second, shooting magic lightning bolts from her hands. The currents of shocking blue light hit the Seeker closest to her, but the second disappeared into thin air.

"No use in trying to hide," Liv said. " _Laas Yah Nir_." The whispered Words of Power reached out, wrapping a glowing red aura around anything in the area with a life force. The invisible Seeker had moved off to her far right. A crackle of lightning discharged from her hand, hitting the thing square in its chest-mouth. With her free hand, she shot another shocking bolt at the Seeker moving in on her left then she darted across the platform for the Word Wall, dodging behind it as the Seekers loosed their ripples of magic again. The waves struck against the Wall, leaving the Dragonborn mage unharmed. Liv glanced around the side of it to check the creatures' position. The Seekers had split themselves in two, and all four floated right for her. Not that it was going to matter in a moment.

Bringing her hands together, Liv conjured the Lightning Storm spell, one of the most powerful in her arcane arsenal. She jumped out from behind the Word Wall as the Seekers drew closer and threw a great blast of shocking power at them, the whole area lighting up with its electric blue glow. When the magicka emptied from her being, she felt lightheaded and weak, but the Seekers were nothing more than piles of ash now, spilling through the many slots in the platform and into the green-black sea beneath it.

"Whew," Liv breathed as she staggered over to the stone edifice. This Word Wall was unlike the others she'd come across in Skyrim. Looking at it made her feel a little disoriented. Bold black letters of some foreign alphabet scrolled and twisted incoherently upon the edifice's curved wall, and mixed within it, the more familiar written language of the _Dov_. A small section of the scratched-and-clawed characters flared with blue light. She focused on them, shutting those other bold alien letters out, and the Word of Power jammed itself into her head.

 _Qah._

As usual, the Word felt familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, but Liv didn't know what it meant or what power it bestowed. That was the bad part of being a mortal with a dragon soul—you had the inherent ability to Shout like any dragon, but you couldn't understand any Words of Power until you absorbed that knowledge from another dragon's soul. Like as not it was the final Word of Dragon Aspect; it was the only Shout in her repertoire that was unfinished.

An unmistakable sound cut through the air, then; a thundering roar that could only be a dragon. Lifting her head, Liv saw the great, cerulean, serpentine beast slithering through the air on huge indigo wings, coming from the direction of the summit. She recognized it immediately. The first time she had entered Apocrypha, the Traitor had ridden off on that blue monster.

"Shor's golden beard," Liv complained. "Can't you wait until I've rested a bit?"

The dragon Shouted down a funnel of frost in answer, flapping fast above Liv's head then swooping a hard right to come back around again. Being a Nord, Liv had an inherent resistance to cold, natural or otherwise; she felt the icy sting as it passed over her exposed skin, leaving gooseflesh in its wake, but she was spared the frostbite it would've inflicted on others.

Liv decided against killing the beast and taking its soul to learn what power _Qah_ granted. She was going to need a way to reach the towering summit, after all, and what better way to make her grand appearance than on the back of Jumped-Up Prick's own dragon? That'll show him.

The serpentine dragon hovered just above the platform, wings beating at the air. It drew in a breath to give her another cold blast, but Liv beat the beast to the punch this time, Shouting " _Gol Hah Dov_!" to bend the dragon's will to her own. Her colorful cone of influence moved through the air and engulfed the creature. Liv watched, feeling a kind of savage power and satisfaction that was both alarming and thrilling, as the dragon let loose a roar of rage and descended on the platform to submit to her.

"Hail, _thuri_ ," it grudgingly addressed her with a guttural-sounding voice. "Your _Thu'um_ has earned the mastery."

"Right," Liv said as she approached the awesome creature. "Would you kindly drop me off at the summit? I have a bit of business to settle with your, uh, previous master."

The dragon complied by lowering its mighty hornless head to the platform. Liv grabbed hold of the spikes trailing down the dragon's neck to mount up, settling carefully into place between them. With a few flaps of its wings, they were in the air and Liv felt that same wild exhilaration she had the first time she'd ridden Odahviing, and all the times after.

"Beware," the cerulean dragon cautioned as its sleek body undulated gracefully and its long, indigo wings cleaved through the stagnant air, carrying them both ever closer to the summit. "Miraak is strong. He knew you would come here."

Liv moved her body with the dragon's motions to keep herself seated easier; she'd found that riding a dragon wasn't that much different from riding a horse, if you ignored the spikes, scales, wings and massive size.

"Aye, I don't doubt it," she responded. "But I'm not afraid of him." Well, Liv was a _little_ afraid of him—she would be a fool not to feel some kind of fear—but she was more afraid of the Daedric Prince, and with good reason. He could kill her any time he wished, and with a mere snap of his tentacles.

The dragon banked right suddenly, making Liv gasp and tighten her grip on his neck spikes, and a ripple of magic surged by a second later. Liv looked down to see a small platform in the sea of blackness, a Seeker and Lurker moving about it in attack mode.

"Shall I destroy them, _thuri_?" the dragon asked.

"No," Liv replied. "They're not important. _Amativ_ , to the summit."

" _Ol hi uth_."

Reaching the summit at last, a huge, round platform rising hundreds of feet from the murky sea below, Liv saw two dragons perched on the arched structure surrounding it and a single familiar figure standing below, garbed in black robes chased in gold and a gold mask that was creepily evocative of a Seeker's face. He had a strange-looking staff gripped in his left hand and an equally weird sword hanging from his left hip, both running with the tentacle theme that seemed prevalent in Apocrypha.

"Behold!" Liv announced as the dragon bore her around the summit. "The Last Dragonborn has arrived…and on the back of _your_ dragon! Ha! How do you like _them_ apples?"

She was ignored of course.

"Sahrotaar, are you so easily swayed?" the masked man directed at the cerulean dragon. His voice was thunder-deep and thickened by a Nordic accent.

"Easily swayed, or my _Thu'um_ is stronger than yours," Liv taunted. Then, to the dragon, she said: "Sahrotaar, is it? Land, please."

" _Geh, thuri._ "

"We shall soon see, _Dovahkiin_ ," the man below said, his voice cold. "You were foolish to come here again."

Sahrotaar found enough space on the platform for his bulk and came down on it with a boom. Liv slipped down from his neck, landing neatly on her feet.

"Thanks for the ride, Sahrotaar," she said as she straightened out her white robe. "You may go, but stay close to the summit. I may have need of you again." And she was fully aware that this might come back to bite her in the arse. Her influence over the dragon may only last moments or it may last hours, or the other Dragonborn could reclaim him. Anything could happen.

The dragon lumbered back away from her, then took to wing to soar around the summit.

Liv noticed the other two dragons eying her, shifting impatiently on their perch, maws stretched back from their deadly sharp teeth in a nasty rictus that seemed to say _I'm going to tear the flesh from your bones, puny mortal_. She noticed something else as well: disembodied eyeballs floating in the air around the platform. _Mora watches. Of course he does; this is_ his _realm after all, and I bet he's just dying to see this play out to its epic conclusion here, to_ gloat _if nothing else._

The man in the gold mask also spared the pair of dragons a look, perhaps sensing their restlessness. "No. Not yet. We should greet our guest first." He turned his attention to Liv again and strode toward her, confidence in every step and a swelling aura of arrogance around him. "And so the First Dragonborn meets the Last Dragonborn at the summit of Apocrypha. No doubt just as Hermaeus Mora intended. He's a fickle master, you know. But now I will be free of—"

"Look, I know you love the sound of your own voice," Liv cut in as she came forward to meet him, bold as you please. "But I really don't have the patience to sit through _another_ villain's rambling monologue."

Miraak showed her what he thought of that with a roaring Shout of " _Fus Ro Dah_!" The forceful magic was so powerful it felt like a battering ram to her chest, slamming her breath loose as it flung her across the platform. Liv hit the floor hard with a grimace, rolling a few times before finally coming to a stop. She huffed out an angry breath. _Can't I just kill him instead?_ , she prayed to Akatosh. _Please?_

"Kruziikrel! Relonikiv! _Now_!"

Liv heard the _fwaap_ of wings unfurling, and then felt the rumble of the dragons leaving their perches. She scrambled to her feet and looked up just as twin funnels of flame blasted down at her.

" _Wuld_!" The Word of Power carried Liv a quarter of the way across the platform, but in the blink of an eye, sparing her from the dragon fire. She was going to have to keep the beasts distracted, and she had just what she needed for that. Hopefully. "Sahrotaar, _nos_!"

She probably should have been more specific about whom to attack.

The cerulean beast veered from his flight around the summit, flapping straight at Miraak and opening his maw to issue a cone of frost.

"Not him, damn you!" Liv cried, waving her hands at the other dragons. "Them!"

The dragon complied instantly, swerving in the direction of his kin and barely missing the blast of fire the First Dragonborn Shouted at him. The cerulean collided into the flank of one of the other dragons, knocking it out of the air. The red-scaled beast crashed down onto part of the arched structure, which exploded into chunks of flying stone. Sahrotaar immediately set after the other, blasting it with frost.

At the same time this was happening, Miraak Shouted the Words of Dragon Aspect. Liv stared, eyes wide, as ribbons of white, blue, and orange light swirled around him, forging themselves to his person in the semblance of a dragon. And then he was charging at her, startlingly fast, swinging his freaky tendril-shaped blade toward her head.

 _Not good…!_

Liv summoned a bound sword, threw it up to block his attack. The two weapons met hard, dark glowing purple against repulsive, squiggling green. The impact sent a harsh jolt up Liv's arm. She felt something else as well, something _baffling_ : a vague sense of pity that was not her own, _couldn't_ be her own because she didn't feel any pity at the moment. But then that would mean…

 _Oh, screw you,_ Liv thought, suddenly furious. She gripped her bound blade with both hands and _shoved_ against her opponent's weapon with all her strength. _Screw you and the dragon you rode in on!_ He could take his pity and cram it somewhere unpleasant.

Miraak hardly budged under her power. He pressed into her defense, trying to force his blade past her own (and one-handed, no less) with a strength she should have anticipated but hadn't. Liv widened her stance more to keep her balance, but she could feel her upper body tipping backwards. Growling out, she bore down and pushed back, fighting it, him, with a dragon's fury. _You have to hold him back_ , she told herself. _You_ must _hold him back._

Miraak rumbled with a short, gruff, _mocking_ laugh. "Your resolve is commendable, Dragonborn, but your fate was sealed the moment you stepped into Apocrypha."

"Jumped-up… _prick_!" Liv spat back, her arms trembling, aching from the effort to stave him off. How she had longed to call him that to his stupid masked face. "You better be… _grateful_...for this!" _Akatosh, give me strength…_

She felt him let up on his sword a fraction—a faint waver of hesitation, perhaps in confusion to her remark—and then she Shouted the words Akatosh had bestowed her: " _Nahl Dal Vus_!"

"What—"Miraak managed to get out just before the Words swallowed him in a blinding flash of white light.

Liv felt the force pushing against her bound blade leave in an instant, and she fell over. When her vision cleared, she saw she was the only mortal standing there and let out a breathless laugh. _By the Divines, it worked._

Her laughter was short-lived, however.

While Sahrotaar still battled the other dragon mid-air, the red-scaled one he'd knocked down earlier now lumbered across the platform toward Liv, Shouting a cone of flame. She threw herself out of its path, rolling across the platform and leaping up to her feet at the dragon's left. Lightning crackled in her palms, but before she could fully summon Lightning Storm, a thick, black tentacle emerged from the pool of green-black ooze at the center of the platform. It whipped out at the dragon, catching it in the flank and with such force it knocked the great beast through the arched structure and over the side of the summit.

Liv barely had a chance to breathe before that tentacle changed direction with preternatural speed and snaked around her midsection, lifting her clear off the ground. She was sure in that moment that it would slam her down on the platform, shatter every bone in her body. Instead, it yanked her toward that icky pool at the center, where a black, seething, nebulous mass of tendrils and eyes hovered above it. The big, unblinking eye at its center was narrowed and glaring. Hello, Hermaeus Mora.

" _Dragonborn_!" boomed the Daedric Prince's voice. Normally a leisurely sound, it was now full of unbridled fury. " _I offered you a world of knowledge and power, the honor of becoming my next Champion, and you repay me with treachery? You are no different than Miraak."_

"He's gone. What difference does it make _how_ he went?" Liv replied, struggling uselessly against the demon's appendage.

" _You ask a foolish question_ ," the Prince said. " _I commanded you to kill him, to earn your place as my Champion_ —"

"And I told _you_ that I wasn't interested."

"— _You did not live up to your end of the bargain, Dragonborn, and now you will pay for cheating me_. _But before I kill you, you will give me the knowledge of this Shout that even I, Hermaeus Mora, Prince of Knowledge and Fate, did not know existed._ "

Liv had to laugh. There was something delightfully ironic about the Daedric Prince's obsession with what he ruled over. But again her laughter was short-lived as a long, black appendage rose up into the air before her, the end of it coiling back like a snake about to strike, aiming directly at her forehead. The one around her torso squeezed painfully tight, threatening to rupture organs. She barely got the Shout out in time.

" _Feim Zii Gron_!" Her _Thu'um_ vibrated around her, turning her form ethereal. She slipped through Mora's tentacle, landing on her hands and knees.

" _You cannot escape your fate, Dragonborn_."

Liv ignored him as she fumbled in her pack for the book. Normally her ethereal form allowed her no interaction with the world, but since the book was on her person and basically in the same half-existence as her, she was able to handle it. Yet there was a despondent voice in the back of her head telling her it wasn't going to work, that this is where everything would go oh so horribly _wrong_. Liv battled that voice with faith, giving it a mental shove, and pulled the Black Book out, opening it quickly. She stared into the yellowed pages as Mora's limbs thrashed around her and _through_ her. She felt herself being pulled through the book, and Mora's final, foreboding words went with her. He sounded himself again; unconcerned and _sure._

" _Go, then. But know this, Dragonborn: you have not seen the last of me. Your actions against me will reap great consequences. It is inevitable_."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

 _ **Liv**_ _stood at the summit of the Throat of the World, where she had first battled Alduin and almost died as a result. It was also here that Paarthurnax, the old white dragon who had sided against his eldest brother during the Dragon War and aided mortalkind, roosted in peace and contemplation, but it was not Paarthurnax that Liv found there. Instead it was an old man, white of beard, garbed in a white hooded robe and an aura of gentle golden light. He stood with his gnarled hands clasped behind his back, staring into the shimmering, wavering field that interrupted the air near the edge of the mountain, the Time Wound created by Felldir the Old when he used an Elder Scroll to cast Alduin adrift on the currents of time._

 _Although called the Time Dragon, on the two occasions Akatosh had appeared to her throughout her life, it was always in this human, grandfatherly form._

 _In reverence, Liv knelt in the snow before the old man, bowing her head. She could feel her pulse thudding vehemently in her veins, pounding like a war drum in her ears. Here she knelt, in the presence of her god. Here, she would be able to speak with Him. There was no greater honor than this. She felt a heady mixture of purest love and rapture and fear._

" _It was necessary," the old man spoke with a voice smooth as silk and deep as thunder, sweeping a wrinkled hand toward the Time Wound. "And yet it still fills me with grief. Tell me, Dragonborn, was it the Prophecy that drove you to vanquish Alduin? Did you believe that it was your fate, the destiny you must fulfill?"_

" _Aye and no, Reverence," Liv replied softly. "I believe we all have a purpose in life, but I chose my purpose as much as it chose me. I wanted the world to go on; it may be full of cruelty and suffering, but there's still good in it worth saving."_

" _And what of the cruel, Dragonborn? Do you believe that within the cruel-hearted there is still good worth saving?"_

 _Liv didn't quite understand why He was asking her these questions. He was a god, after all; surely He must already know what she thought. "I believe it's worth saving, aye, but that doesn't mean it can be. People can only overcome their evil nature through their own effort, not by another's."_

 _The Time Dragon chuckled at that. "You have taken much of Paarthurnax's wisdom to heart, I see."_

" _I'm grateful for his counsel. His long years have made him very wise."_

" _Yes, so unlike the imprudent firstborn." He turned to her finally, hands still clasped behind his back. "I see much of Paarthurnax and Alduin within you and the First Dragonborn; where one is my joy, the other is my sorrow."_

 _Liv might have guessed who was His joy and who His sorrow, but she didn't want to seem presumptuous._

" _Yet I also see some of you within him and him within you." Akatosh let that hang in the air for a moment before dismissively waving it away with a hand. "You succeeded in freeing him from Hermaeus Mora's realm as I asked of you, and I am pleased by this."_

" _Thank you, Reverence, but I could not have done it without the Shout You bestowed me."_

 _They fell into silence, the only sound the wind howling around the mountaintop. Head still bowed, Liv bit her lip, wondering if she should be so bold as to voice the questions she had, if her boldness would come as an insult to her god..._

" _Do not be afraid, my child," the Time Dragon spoke. "It is only natural for mortals to be curious. Ask what you wish and I shall answer what I can. But be warned: the answers you want may not be the answers you receive."_

 _Liv peeked up through her lashes. She was always afraid to make direct eye contact, as if this also might offend Him. "Why didn't Mora know what I planned to do? Why didn't he stop me from using that Shout? He's the Daedric Prince of Fate; he sees the path ahead, knows where it ends, so surely he would've anticipated this possibility."_

 _"Hermaeus Mora's knowledge is vast, his sight far-seeing, this is true, but some things are hidden even from him, as you well know."_

Like the secrets of the Skaal, _Liv thought. Or at least they_ were _a secret until she talked Storn Crag-Strider into giving them up to the demon so that she might learn the rest of the Bend Will Shout. Liv wondered if scheming and underhanded tactics were how Mora had obtained so much forbidden knowledge._

 _"How could he anticipate what he did not know existed?" Akatosh continued. "For the Shout I bestowed upon you existed only in Sovngarde, a plane of Aetherius. There are barriers between Aetherius and Oblivion that the Daedra cannot breach."_

" _So…we more or less_ tricked _him?" And what delicious poetic justice that was. Liv liked the notion very much._

 _The old man smiled, his ageless golden eyes twinkling. "Yes."_

" _Will he come after us? He threatened that I hadn't seen the last of him, and it almost felt like he_ let _me leave Apocrypha."_

" _The Daedra are ever unpredictable, Hermaeus Mora even more so. He does nothing without purpose, however. Be cautious. He has many followers; he may choose to exact revenge through one of them or he may strike a bargain with a promising new candidate for his rank of servants, as he attempted with you."_

 _That was not comforting, but Liv supposed she shouldn't expect it to be. She asked the obvious question: "What's to become of Miraak now?"_

 _The God of Time sighed. It almost sounded sad. "Only Time will tell. But he abused his power and denied his purpose, and thus denied me. These sins must be punished."_

" _Punished?"_

" _A punishment equal to the transgression," the Time Dragon said, and left it at that. "But I am not without mercy. Hear me well, Dragonborn: if he wishes to recover what is lost, he must understand. He must_ see _."_

 _Liv made a confused face, but nodded all the same. Were all gods this cryptic?_

" _You do not know of what I speak," Akatosh stated, "but you understand nonetheless; you have already learned much of what he must. Perhaps you shall be a guide for him, perhaps not. The First Dragonborn is headstrong, impulsive and arrogant, characteristics that you also possess. Yet, thus far, you have turned out much different."_

 _Liv understood then, astonishment alighting on her face. "Wait—You're giving him another chance? That's why You wanted him freed?"_

 _The old man hesitated before replying: "Yes and no."_

" _But_ why _? He doesn't deserve it," Liv blurted, almost expecting a blast of flame to her face for her blasphemy._

 _But the old man only smiled at her again and said: "And who are you to decide this?"_

 _Liv flushed at the question, bowing her head lower until her forehead almost touched the snow. "Forgive me."_

" _There is great darkness in him, but perhaps he is not yet lost to it. Our time together is almost at an end, now. I would share one last thing with you, Dragonborn: you are bound with him, as he is bound with you."_

 _Liv felt her stomach collapse in on itself. That word—'bound'—could mean a number of things, none of them comforting or welcomed. "Um…bound? Again, forgive me, but does it have to be that way?"_

" _It can be no other way, Dragonborn. It is through My Blood and your actions—yours and his—that you are tied. You may choose to accept this bond or ignore it; either choice may prove difficult. It may be a strength or a weakness. You both may do great deeds with it or terrible ones. Or perhaps nothing will come of it. Only Time will tell." The old man held a gnarled hand out to her, the tips of his fingers glowing. "Now go, my child. We may yet speak again."_

 _And then Liv was surrounded in bright, white light…_

* * *

Dark, shapeless forms swam into the distorted white sea that was Liv's field of sight as she came out of the dream-vision. She sucked in a breath of air, let it out, and then drew in another through her nose, deeper this time, letting it fill up her lungs to completion with great gratitude. The air was cold and living, carrying with it the fresh scent of pine and snow and the brine of the sea, so unlike the air in Apocrypha, which had been odorless, inert, and neither hot nor cold nor warm; empty in every sense of the word. She would sooner join Sanguine in another drinking contest than step foot in that pit again.

Her vision focusing now, Liv could make out the ring of snow-heavy trees towering above her and the orb of dull, gray sky at its center, the light snowflakes drifting lazily down to her, and her sibling's seriously concerned face.

"Was starting to get worried you weren't coming back," Leif said, putting a hand under her shoulder to haul her upright. "You okay?"

"I could really go for some spiced mead, but otherwise I'm fine," Liv replied as she shook snow out of her long, red-gold braid. "How long was I gone?"

"Thirty minutes or thereabout."

Liv gawked, finding that hard to believe. "That's it? Kyne's breath, it felt like I was in there for _days_."

"You've been inside Apocrypha for far less time than thirty minutes before, at least _here_. I'd altogether assume time's different in Mora's realm, if it even exists at all." Leif peered beyond her, nodding his head once. "Well, you can add 'unleashing a deranged Dragonborn on the world' to your growing list of accomplishments. Good work. I hope your god knows what He's doing."

Liv followed his gaze. Jumped-Up Prick was sprawled out in the snow a few feet behind her, alive but unconscious, his bizarre staff and sword scattered around him.

Liv looked back at her brother inquiringly. "He wasn't unconscious when I Shouted him back to Nirn. What did you do, clout him?"

Leif shrugged as he tightened up a loose strap on his dragonbone gauntlet. "The second he appeared. I wasn't taking any chances. Luckily for me, he never saw the blow coming." Leif looked up at her with an uncertain expression. "So, what _now_?"

Liv breathed out a long sigh. "Damned if I know."

"What, your god didn't tell you that part?"

"Well, Akatosh came to me again, after I escaped Apocrypha." _Or was intentionally allowed to leave_ , Liv thought with a sense of dread, and quickly shook the thought away. She would only worry about that when it became a problem. She had enough to deal with at the moment.

"And…?" Leif prompted.

" _And_ He was as cryptic as ever. From what I understand, Akatosh has granted him a second chance. He's also being punished, but Akatosh didn't exactly say how. He's supposed to understand something, but Akatosh didn't exactly say what. I may or may not be some kind of 'guide' for him, whatever that means, and…" Here she let out an explosive sigh, as if she were expelling decades of bottled up stress. "Apparently we're bound to one another...ye gods, it sounds infinitely worse when you say it out loud."

"Bound?" Leif asked, frowning, not liking it either. "What does that even mean? Bound how?"

Liv shook her head. "I don't know and I'm not sure I want to know."

"Your god isn't very straightforward, is He?" Leif replied with dry tones.

"The gods are anything but straightforward, brother. When we're meant to understand something, we will understand it."

"That's horseshit," Leif groused. "This whole thing is horseshit. Of all the people who could be given a second chance, it should not be him. And doesn't all this mean Akatosh has broken some kind of sacred rule? I thought the gods couldn't intervene in the lives of mortals."

"They can't intervene _directly,_ " Liv corrected. "And considering Miraak was in Oblivion, I don't think Akatosh could've intervened directly even if He had made the attempt. Apparently there are barriers between Oblivion and Aetherius that the Daedra can't penetrate, and I'm guessing it works both ways. But the gods _can_ intervene indirectly, through another; think Kyne and Paarthurnax during the Dragon War or Akatosh and Martin Septim during the Oblivion Crisis."

"Fine, but in those cases, the intervention was necessary; bad shit was going to happen if They didn't try to stop it somehow. I don't see how it was necessary for Akatosh to set this arsehole free. He turned his back on the world, on his own people, betrayed _everyone_ , for his own selfish reasons. The bastard earned his incarceration in Oblivion."

Liv nodded. "And I agree, but his fate is not ours to decide. That's Akatosh's business and He has cast His judgment."

"Aye, but _we_ get sacked with the aftermath. And the aftermath is a pissed off Daedric Prince and _this_ lunatic—" Leif pointed at the unconscious Dragonborn, scowling. "—getting exactly what he wanted; he's now free to pursue his mad goal of dominating all of Tamriel or destroying it—or whatever the fuck he was planning to do—which means you're gonna have to keep a leash on him."

" _Me_?" Liv frowned. "You just said 'we' a second ago, so why is it all of a sudden only me? We're supposed to be a team."

"We are, but you're the only one who can control him. That Shout Mora gave you—it bends wills, doesn't it? So bend his."

Liv gaped at him, appalled. While Miraak would certainly deserve it, she had no intention of ever using the Bend Will Shout on anyone or anything ever again. It frightened her. When she had bent Sahrotaar's will in Apocrypha it had felt savagely wonderful, made her feel immensely powerful, more than she had any right to be. No one should wield the power to take another's freewill.

"No. I won't do it," she said at last. "I _refuse_ to."

"Why?" Leif demanded. "He deserves it for what he did to the people here, to _us_. Stealing into our minds at night, while we slept. Defenseless. Making us his fucking _slaves_."

Liv shuddered. This had been before she used the Bend Will Shout on the All-Maker stones, to break Miraak's control over Solstheim's people. She would go to sleep only to wake up an hour later at one of those stones, hammering away at the shrine being built around it, with no memory of how she'd gotten there. It had been worse for Leif; where the mind control had only ever claimed her for an hour at the most, it had claimed Leif longer, entire nights. They ended up deciding against sleeping at all, consuming stamina potions to stay awake. By the time they had destroyed the shrines around the All-Maker stones they were nearly mad from sleep deprivation.

"I could've done without the pleasant reminder," Liv said dryly. "And while he may deserve it, I doubt it would even work on him."

"You don't know that for sure, though, not until you try."

Liv shook her head. "No. I used that Shout on a dragon in Apocrypha, and it's…it's _wrong_ , Leif. That Shout is an abomination; it shouldn't even exist."

"Neither should he!" Leif snapped. "He should have _died_ in Apocrypha, for the good of this world!"

"And I said _no_ , so stop pushing me!" Liv snapped right back with a dragon's fury, making her brother flinch. She regretted it immediately. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you like that."

Leif waved off the apology. "If that Shout wasn't meant to be used, then it wouldn't exist."

"Miraak used it, and look at what he was capable of doing with it. _I won't be him_ , Leif."

Leif's brow furrowed. Why would she think she would? "No, you won't. You're not using that Shout to force people to do your bidding. You're using it to subdue a dangerous enemy. Big difference."

"Aye, but it's not that simple, brother," Liv said, her voice solemn now. "A dragon's hunger is insatiable, and dragons hunger for power. The more I use a Shout the more I want to _keep_ using it, to grow it and make myself more powerful. If I give into that, if I feed the dragon, I'm no different than him or Alduin. I will become what I hate."

Leif's face softened with understanding. "So that's what you're worried about."

"That's what I'm _always_ worried about. Sometimes it feels like no matter how hard I _fight_ it's only a matter of time."

Leif considered this for some moments. Then he sighed and nodded. "Okay, if that's the way you feel, don't use the Shout. We'll figure something else out. But just so you know, I think you're worrying over nothing. I don't see you becoming a power-mad dragon."

Liv snorted. "You have to say that, you're my brother."

"I don't have to say shit," he laughed. "It's what I believe. You know, for someone who's so full of faith, you have very little for yourself."

"Never you mind," Liv groused. "Let's just focus on our other Dragonborn problem."

Leif didn't press the matter to his sister's great relief. "Alright. Well, seeing as how we can't leave him to his own devices, we're going to have to keep an eye on him until we find a place to dump him. Maybe Cidhna Mine, where he'll be forced into backbreaking, menial labor. Appropriate, wouldn't you agree?"

"Appropriate, aye, but he'll easily Shout or magic his way out of any prison." Liv paused briefly. "Correction: any prison that _isn't_ a plane of Oblivion."

Leif frowned at that. "Good point. Well, in the meantime, it would probably be a good idea to truss the bastard up while he's still unconscious. Should get rid of his weapons, and that stupid mask too so we can gag him. That'll take care of any chance of him Shouting at _us_."

Liv nodded. "Agreed. You see about finding something to tie him up with, I'll take care of the weapons and the mask." And by 'take care of' she meant 'dump into the sea'. On the off-chance he managed to get out of his bonds, he'd have less to wield against them. That and taking something from him and sending it to the bottom of the sea where he would never find it just seemed _right;_ some form of petty retribution, perhaps, for the dragon souls he'd taken from her.

While Leif bent over his knapsack to rummage through it, Liv crawled over to the other Dragonborn. Carefully, she hooked her fingers under the lower edge of the mask and the cloth of the hood attached to it and pulled up. She felt the familiar hum-tingle of magic surging through the metal thing as she got it off, and something else that was equally familiar though far less agreeable: that same dark, icky sense of _wrongness_ that Mora's Black Books gave off.

Liv made a disgusted sound as she dropped the foul thing in the snow, then turned her gaze upon its owner and stared for some moments. _That's…not what I was expecting._

The hideous, nightmarish _thing_ she had always imagined was behind that mask turned out to be a very human and handsome man instead, appearing in his late thirties or early forties. He had a face of striking chiseled features, a beard that was short and orderly, and a head of black hair that Liv judged might just brush his shoulders if he were conscious and sitting upright, a few strands woven back from his temples in small, loose braids. There were some old scars, as well, one that cut vertically through his left brow, skipping over the eye to trail halfway down his face and another, smaller one marring the left side of an otherwise perfect pair of lips.

This was all wrong. Unpleasant evil creatures such as he were supposed be ugly on the outside as they were on the inside. They were _not_ supposed to look like... _this_.

"Leif…" Liv called, unable to look away from that deceptively normal face. "You're not going to believe this. There's a _man_ under this mask."

"What, no tentacles?" Leif snickered, glancing over his shoulder at her.

"No! Weird, right? I was almost _sure_ —"

The eyes in that face flashed open. Liv tensed, a small noise of surprise leaving her throat. She wasn't sure which startled her more, his abrupt wakefulness or those eyes. She had been expecting the telltale black spots to be there, one of the physical taints of Mora's influence that she had read and been told about, but they were far from tainted: clear, stunning, a little bit of blue and a little bit of green...

 _And a whole lot of angry_ , Liv thought as the man bolted upright and seized her by the throat with a gloved hand, yanking her within a foot of his now scowling countenance. She was not prepared for the raw emotions that suddenly spiked through her, a disorienting mixture of fury, uncertainty, and confusion. Liv realized with horror that those weren't _her_ emotions. She had sensed something from him before in Apocrypha—that absurd pity he had some nerve to possess—but that had been only a faint whisper, nothing as strong as this.

Liv's eyes focused behind him, where her brother crept up with his Daedric greatsword drawn. She put up a hand in a _wait_ gesture, earning a disapproving grimace from her sibling.

Miraak's face was hard and stern now, his eyes cold and commanding. " _You._ You Shouted me out of Apocrypha. How is this possible?" The scowl reappeared, as if he had just decided his ignorance on the matter was _her_ fault. "How is it that _you_ know of this Shout and _I_ do not?"

Liv shrugged. "Because your knowledge is limited to Mora's, and, as it happens, there _are_ some things unknown even to the Daedric Prince of Knowledge. This Shout is one of them. It exists only in Sovngarde, where Daedra can't stick their noses because of the barriers between Aetherius and Oblivion. Tsun used it to send me back to Nirn after defeating Alduin. Akatosh bestowed it to me to free you from Apocrypha."

That surprised him, if the sudden widening of his eyes was anything to go by. " _Akatosh_? Why would..?" Miraak paused, perhaps to rally his mental forces and have a go at figuring it all out for himself. Apparently he came up short, for he soon made a frustrated noise that matched his frustrated expression. "None of this makes sense. _Explain_!"

Liv's mouth tightened. She was quickly growing irritated with his commanding tone of voice. "He came to me in a dream-vision and tasked me with your liberation. Apparently He is giving you a second chance."

"Indeed? The gods do not intervene without a price. So what is the catch? What price am I paying for my freedom, my…'second chance'?" He said that last bit with a scathing tone that made Liv want to rearrange his face into something less pleasant. The uppity bastard had no clue how fortunate he was. Or maybe he did and didn't care.

In lieu of beating him ugly, Liv insulted his character while mocking his scathing tone: "Conceited _and_ cynical. How...'charming'."

"You are testing my patience," he growled, giving her throat a warning squeeze.

"I'm not afraid of you," Liv rasped, chin tilted up, eyes narrowed in defiance.

Miraak laughed, a sound that was low, clipped and sardonic. "You fool only yourself; I sense your fear as easily as I sense your dragon soul. You will answer my question."

Liv straightened her back as she summoned the nastiest grin she owned. Who did he think he was? More importantly, who did he think _she_ was? She wasn't one of his bootlicking minions to be ordered around. "Ask nicely and maybe I'll _consider_ it."

"I'm not above ripping it out of you, Dragonborn," Miraak threatened, reinforcing his grip on her throat again until it briefly shut off her windpipe.

At that Leif lowered his sword, pushing its keen edge up against the side of the man's neck. "Try it and I'll remove your head from your neck."

The First Dragonborn didn't even flinch. Liv saw his eyes shift to his sword nearby on the ground, and before she could even draw her next breath, he rolled over it and was on his feet, facing her brother, the weird blade gripped in his right hand.

It didn't stay there for long, Liv made sure of that.

"Stand down, brother," she told Leif as she held out a hand toward the other Dragonborn. "This is between me and him."

Then she conjured Telekinesis on Miraak's sword, tearing it right out of his grasp. With a swipe of her hand, it sailed some fifty yards out into the forest and stabbed high up into a tree trunk, quivering in place. Liv suspected the Disarm Shout wouldn't have worked on another Dragonborn, and was honestly surprised the Telekinesis spell did. Leif, while no mage, had claimed she was getting better at it. This only proved it.

Delighted by her handiwork, Liv jumped to her feet with a laugh. "Ha! Didn't expect _that_ , did ya?"

The First looked rather unimpressed. "No matter. I have other weapons at my disposal." He drew in a breath with the clear intent to Shout, and that was when he received the answer to his earlier question—what price was he paying for his freedom?

The Words of Fire Breath came, but they were only words. There was no power, no Voice behind them.

An expression of utter confusion came upon the former Dragon Priest's face. He tried to Shout again, and again got the same result. That confusion transformed into purest dismay and fury.

" _No_ ," Miraak yelled at Liv, as if _she_ had anything to do with it. He balled his hands up so tight Liv could hear the leather of his gloves squeak from where she stood. "This _cannot_ be! I am Dragonborn!"

Liv couldn't help thinking the same thing as she stared at the man in astonishment. "Mara'smercy, you can't Shout…"

Except it had absolutely nothing to do with Mara or mercy. She recalled Akatosh's words: _He abused his power and denied his purpose, and thus denied me. These sins must be punished._

 _A punishment equal to the transgression…_

The man advanced on her in his rage, and Liv saw a strange thing she had only ever heard about until now. His eyes changed to a blazing shade of green, the pupils slit like a reptile's, and then a split second later they were back to normal again, like it hadn't even happened. Leif had commented on seeing that same phenomena in her before. It seemed to only happen during moments when she felt great emotional turbulence, was fighting a dragon or absorbing one's soul, or receiving a Word of Power from a Word Wall.

Even stranger, Liv felt his fury again as she had just after he'd gained consciousness, like it was her own and not her own at the same time. It was almost similar to how a Word of Power seemed familiar and unfamiliar when absorbing it from a Wall. _What_ is _this?_

"What have you done to me!?" Miraak demanded, grabbing her by the front of her robe and damn near lifting her off the ground by it. "Why can I not Shout!? _What have you done to me_!?"

Liv answered with Unrelenting Force. The thunderous fury of her _Thu'um_ rattled the entire forest, toppling snow from branches and sending startled birds into flight. It also broke Miraak's hold on her and knocked him flat on his arse. Lay hands on her, will he.

Miraak jumped to his feet not a moment later, looking all the more confused and furious that _her_ Voice had the power to knock _him_ back, adding insult to injury. Flashing his teeth in a savage snarl, he thrust a hand out in her direction, surely intending to magic her to death.

Nothing happened.

The man let out an unhappy, confounded noise then flexed his fingers and tried again at conjuring something, _anything_ , his brow furrowed in concentration.

Nothing happened.

There was a third, desperate attempt with the same result, and that was the straw that broke the mammoth's back. Obstinate he may have been, but he could no longer deny the glaring obvious. He was screwed.

The powerless Dragonborn dropped to his knees in defeat, staring at his hands as if they were foreign objects. "I don't understand this…"

 _A punishment equal to the transgression_ , Liv thought again as she palmed out the wrinkles he'd made in her robe. And so it seemed Akatosh had stripped him of all he coveted, the power that defined him. She didn't understand how that was possible. The man still had knowledge of his Shouts and seemed to still know spells, but was, for some reason, incapable of using either. It didn't make sense, but then the power of the Gods was ever mysterious, defying the comprehension of mortal minds. What is _is_ , by Their will alone. Akatosh willed that Miraak was to be a Dragonborn without a Voice, a mage without magic, a punishment that was absolutely perfect in its cruelty. And even though the man clearly deserved it, Liv still couldn't help feeling a degree of unwelcome sympathy. Damn her tender human heart.

"You abused your power, denied your purpose," she stated, forcing a smug tone. "And in doing so, you denied Akatosh. So Akatosh has denied you the use of that power—a punishment equal to the transgression. But He is still merciful; He is giving you another chance. I'd suggest you not squander it. The gods rarely grant second chances, especially to those who _willingly_ give themselves to the Daedra."

The man did not respond. He knelt there in seething anger, shoulders tight, hands clenched and visibly shaking. Liv wondered if he was going to literally explode—and wouldn't _that_ have been a pretty sight?

Then she recalled something else Akatosh had told her: _If he wishes to recover what is lost, he must understand._ Liv supposed it might be wise to inform the man of that, if he was to fully understand what was happening to him.

"Maybe this doesn't have to be permanent, though."

Unsurprisingly that got Miraak's attention. Slowly, as if coming out of a daze, he looked up at her without expression, but the unadulterated hatred was still present in his eyes. "You will explain what you mean."

And that was the command that broke Liv's patience; she had very little to begin with. She strode forward and stood over him, the human part of her staring down with pity while the dragon looked upon him as if he were nothing more than a pathetic insect she could crush at her mere whim. "Let's get something straight, you jumped-up prick. I am not one of your addle-brained underlings. I am the _Laat Dovahkiin_ , Vanquisher of Alduin. I can and will crush you like a bug if you _dare_ presume to command anything of me again."

"Liv," her brother said, glancing between the two Dragonborn, of which the male looked rather murderous. "Your overbearing dragon is showing again, and it's not helping the situation."

Those words—and the unwelcome realization that he was right—immediately calmed Liv down. Perhaps one of her hardest challenges was suppressing that officious fault in her nature, especially when it was obvious she was superior. That didn't mean she had to act like an arse about it, however. Sometimes she forgot that, but thankfully Leif was there to always remind her. She often wondered what kind of Dragonborn she would have become if she'd never had him to look out for her. Perhaps it was kneeling in the snow before her.

Liv shuddered at the thought.

"My apologies," she grudgingly said to the fuming man, inclining her head a little. "I suppose I was a bit uncouth. But the fact remains, I do _not_ respond well to commands—or threats, or anything generally _rude_. You'll get what you want when you ask for it properly."

At first she thought he wasn't going to speak at all out of stubborn and angry pride, but it seemed the possibility of his powerless condition not being a permanent one took precedence over his conceit. Shocking, to be sure.

Still, when Miraak finally did speak it was through clenched teeth and bitter resentment: "Please explain what you meant."

It still wasn't formed as a request, but Liv suspected this was as close to one as it was going to get. "The purpose of punishment isn't to harm, but to teach a lesson. Akatosh wants you to understand something, and in understanding, you may recover what you've lost."

"And what am I meant to understand?" he snapped, frustrated by this. "That I have clearly been forsaken?"

"Well, telling you would defeat the purpose, wouldn't it? I don't know what you're meant to understand, but obviously you haven't been forsaken. Akatosh wouldn't be giving you this chance if you were."

"I did not require Akatosh's intervention; I did not ask to be given a second chance. I did not _need_ it! I would have won my freedom on my own. You were meant to die in Apocrypha, and with the power of your soul, I would have escaped."

Liv shook her head at him. Such absurd flights of fancy he had. "You would have died whether you had defeated me or not. Herma-Mora would have disposed of you before you got the chance to escape. He knew what you were planning, he knew he had no control over you, and so you became expendable. Death became your fate, until Akatosh chose to spare you."

"You are wrong," the man declared stubbornly, angrily. "You know _nothing_."

"I know what Daedra do with Champions who prove more troublesome than useful, who cannot be controlled. You were a blind fool to think you ever had a chance of leaving Apocrypha on your own." Liv beamed at him. "In fact, I think it's appropriate to say you _needed_ my help to win your freedom."

Miraak bristled. "I did not need your help! Mark my words, _Dovahkiin_ , I _will_ reclaim the use of my power. And when I do, you will be the first I strike down. You will _suffer_ for what you have done to me!"

Liv raised her brows. "Right. Good luck with that. Akatosh stripped you of your power, and only Akatosh can grant it back."

"There are other ways," he said, his eyes flickering over to something lying in the snow.

Liv followed his gaze to the Black Book, and then she looked to him again in utter astonishment. "Are you _insane_? Going back there is suicide, you must know that. You strayed from Mora too, and demons are far less forgiving than gods. Even on the off-chance he doesn't _kill_ you, you would remain his prisoner for all eternity. And for what? He _might_ be capable of giving you back your ability to cast spells, but he can't give you the Voice."

"Perhaps you are right," Miraak said, rising to his feet. "But I am more than willing to take the risk to gain back even a fraction of my power. If I should die instead, so be it. Death is preferable to spending the rest of my life deficient."

Liv grimaced. Akatosh give her strength, she really wanted to Shout some damn sense into him. "Have you not been listening to me? You don't _have_ to spend the rest of your life that way."

"So you believe I should work toward making myself worthy in Akatosh's eyes, to…what? _Learn my lesson_?" He laughed that mocking laugh. "You are a naïve fool. I could work to that end for the rest of my days, perhaps I could even succeed, but Akatosh will never grant back what He has taken. The gods do not punish to teach a lesson, they punish to _punish_. And what better way to punish a Dragonborn who strayed from His designs than to strip him of his Voice, to force him to live without that which _defines_ him?"

Liv released a frustrated noise and pinched the bridge of her nose. "By the _gods_ , you've got to be the most mulish lout I've ever..." She trailed off, sighing. "Look, there are _worse_ ways a god can punish a sinner. Akatosh would not be punishing you in this way, nor would He have had me free you from Apocrypha, if He wasn't giving you a _chance_."

The man stubbornly shook his head. "You waste your breath. I do not _care_ if I have been given a second chance, as it happens. If it is Akatosh's intent to make me regret my choices, He will be sorely disappointed. I regret _nothing_ , and I never will. And what I choose to do with my existence is no concern of yours. We are done. For now. Take your pathetic sibling and get out of my sight." With that he marched over to the Black Book with a purpose—a highly irrational one. He clearly wasn't in his right mind; then again, he probably hadn't been in his right mind to begin with.

 _Damn stubborn oaf_ , Liv thought angrily as she put her hand out, casting Telekinesis once again. The ageless tome tumbled through the snow, went airborne, and zipped right into her hand.

Miraak whirled to point a forefinger and a dragon's glare at her. "You _will_ give me that book!"

Liv shook her head. "This is for your own good, Dragonborn."

"Then I shall take it from you!"

The man charged at her, crazed in his desperation, but a Shout of " _Fus Ro Dah_!" sent him down on his backside again.

"You like being laid out on your arse?" Liv taunted, and then just to rub salt in the gaping wound: "I can do this all day, _Voiceless_."

If he hadn't been enraged before, he sure as all Oblivion was now. Miraak released a furious roar that, even without the Voice, cut through the quiet of the forest like a thunderclap, and then he came at her again.

From the sidelines, Leif watched them have it out, leaning his forearm on the pommel of his Daedric greatsword. Liv tended to get angry with him when he intervened at moments she didn't need it, so he would only step in when he was sure his sister was in danger, which didn't seem likely at this point. So far, the other Dragonborn's desperation had him blundering around like a novice. It was both amusing and kind of sad.

Liv cast a wall of fire in Miraak's path to stop his advance, but it seemed she had underestimated his resilience. The bastard burst through her conjured flames, a little toasty but otherwise unfazed, and slammed into her with such power he might as well have unleashed Unrelenting Force. They both went to the ground in a flail of limbs, the Black Book flying from Liv's hand. It was left disregarded for the moment; clearly Miraak's priorities had changed and now he was going to try to kill her again, power or no power.

The pair of Dragonborn struggled together like two wet sabre cats in a huge sack, rolling about in the snow, clawing and grappling and hissing curses at each other. Then the First got the Last pinned under his considerable weight, all of it muscle.

"Okay, I admit, the insult might have been out of line," Liv said just before Miraak cracked her across the cheek with a fist. " _Ow_! Son of a—"

"You insolent, meddling _bitch_!"

"Arrrggh! You're gonna pay for that with your face!"Liv steamed as she shoved a hand up at his face hovering just above her, and with the sole intent of burning it _off_.

Miraak knocked it away in time, her summoned flames shooting harmlessly off to his side. He struck her again, hard enough to make Liv see stars and taste blood as her teeth cut the inside of her cheek and her lip split open. She drew in a breath to Shout him off, but felt gloved hands encircle her throat, mercilessly squeezing it shut.

 _Now look who's Voiceless_ , her traitorous conscience taunted.

Then suddenly his hands and weight were gone. Liv gasped for air and sat up just in time to see her brother's gauntleted fist smash into the other Dragonborn's face. She couldn't help a wince—dragonbone and ebony driven into your countenance by a big, strong Nord seriously had to hurt. Miraak crumpled to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut, knocked out cold.

Leif stepped over his motionless, supine form to reach his sister, holding out a hand to help her up. Liv accepted, and as soon as she was upright she touched a hand to her mouth and pulled it away, staring at the blood on her fingers.

"Let me look," Leif said, trying to take hold of her chin.

Liv shooed him away. The concern was touching, but unnecessary. "It's fine; nothing a little healing spell won't take care of." She turned a hot glare on the unconscious man. "Well, now, since _this_ bastard—" She emphasized the word with a swift kick to his ribs, not caring that he wouldn't feel it. The action alone was satisfying. "—has no power, we don't have to keep a leash on him anymore. So we might as well tie him up to a tree and leave him here to rot."

Leif hoicked his brows in surprise. "Are you serious? What if something happens to him?"

Liv frowned at the questions. "Not long ago you were raving that he should die for the good of the world. _Now_ you care if something happens to him?"

"Gods, no. He _should_ die for the good of the world, but doesn't that kind of go against what _Akatosh_ wants? I would think you, of all people, would care about that."

Liv shrugged as she bent over to collect the Black Book. "I did what was asked of me. He's not my concern anymore." Except she knew that might not be true, but she was just too angry to accept it at the moment. "Listen, you deal with him. I'm going to Skaal Village to let them know he's more or less been taken care of, and then I'm gonna dump this book and his shit into the sea."

"Are you sure it's wise to lie to the Skaal like that? If we're planning on leaving him behind, those people are gonna get quite the shock if he decides to pay their village an unexpected visit."

"I said 'more or less', so it's not exactly a lie. He's no longer a threat to them."

"That's not necessarily true," Leif said. "He just whooped a Dragonborn's arse without any of his power."

Liv scowled and pointed a finger at his face. "He did _not_ whoop my arse and I had it _handled_ until you intervened!"

"Whatever you say," Leif replied, rolling his eyes. "It seems you're overdue for some more melee training. That was too close a call for my comfort."

Liv grumbled as strode over to her pack where she'd left it parked up against a tree. She bent down to stuff the book inside, glad to have it out of her hands, and slung the pack over a shoulder. She then collected Miraak's staff, sword (which required her to use Telekinesis to get it down from the tree it was stuck to) and mask. Perhaps leaving him utterly defenseless was cruel, but she wasn't taking any chances. If he used those things to kill any innocent people, that blood would also be on her hands.

"I should be back in an hour or two," Liv said to her brother, who was pulling a length of rope from his knapsack. Leif had bought it off a peddler in Skyrim for four hundred septims; costly, but the man had claimed the rope was the strongest around and he hadn't been lying. It had helped them tremendously with climbing through the mountains of both Skyrim and Solstheim and it still looked brand new, but it seemed its final use would literally bind a Dragonborn to whatever fate awaited him.

"You should tell them the truth," Leif called after his sister as she headed through the trees. "They need to be warned that he's still around."

"I'll consider it."

* * *

Liv _did_ consider it; she considered it plenty on the way to the village, but in the end she couldn't do it. She couldn't tell fierce, honorable Frea—who had been Liv's closest friend on the island—that her father had died in vain. The Daedric Prince who had killed him had been cheated, aye, but the man who'd started it all, the one who had robbed many people of their will, including many Skaal, and would have done a lot worse had he gotten his way, was still alive. Akatosh's will or not, there was no justice in that, not for the people he had harmed. Not for Storn Crag-Strider, who'd died for nothing, and not for his mourning daughter, Frea.

Liv stayed in the village perhaps longer than she should have; many of the Skaal had wished to hear her tale of what transpired in Apocrypha, and Liv had reluctantly given them a made up version where Evil fell to the forces of Good. Some simply wanted to chat her up before they probably never saw her again. Liv made a point of emphasizing that; the Skaal were good people, she liked them more than most Skyrim Nords, but once she left this stinking island, she had no intention of returning unless it was absolutely necessary.

Liv said her goodbyes and was offered gifts for all she'd done, which she had politely declined. Frea hadn't taken 'no' for answer, however, and placed around Liv's neck a silver amulet her father had made her when she was child, claiming it would protect her from evil. If Liv hadn't felt guilty before she had then.

Now, as Liv headed for the coast, Frea's amulet weighing heavily on her neck, she grudgingly began to accept that there was no choice in the matter. She couldn't leave Miraak on the island; she couldn't take the chance of him doing something heinous or of someone figuring out who he was. She could not— _would not_ —do that to the people of the island. The man would refuse to leave, of course, but she had an idea of how she might convince him it was better than staying. If he couldn't be convinced, then she would _force_ him into it.

Reaching the shore, Liv paused at the water's edge for a moment, eyes closed as she soaked up the calming whisper of the waves and the kiss of sea spray on her face. The tranquility helped a little in clearing her head and soothing her frayed nerves.

Then she heard a deep, distressed chorus of honks. Liv opened her eyes and trained them in the direction of the sounds, where a trio of horkers watched her suspiciously from about thirty yards away. She was not wanted here, it seemed. Although the big, blubbery, tusked creatures were peaceful if left alone more often than not, some were a little more moody than others, going into attack mode at the mere presence of an unwanted guest.

"I'll mind my business, you mind _yours_ ," she said to them, dropping her pack and Miraak's effects in the cold, wet sand.

Liv knelt down, keeping the horkers in her peripheral vision, and threw the flap on her pack open. She pulled the Black Book out with a little Telekinesis and laid it down in the sand, and then she stood, grimacing at the hideous, ageless tome that had caused her nothing but trouble. She cursed herself for not having the presence of mind to take the other Black Books she'd found with her so they too could find their fate at the bottom of the sea. Hopefully future adventurers would have the sense to leave them be.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish," Liv muttered as she held her hand out over the book and levitated it from the sand, leveling it out at her height. Then, with a forward motion of her hand, it flew some hundred odd yards out into the ocean and came down with a small splash.

She did the same thing with Miraak's possessions. Hopefully all of it, book included, would be lost and forgotten for thousands of years like the man who'd owned them. No, scratch that—lost _forever_.

Shouldering her pack and giving a goodbye salute to the honking horkers, Liv started back to the forest where she'd left her brother.

She never saw the Black Book floating on the water's surface, refusing to sink as it was meant to. She didn't see the waves catch it and push it back to shore. She didn't see it come to rest in the sand, nor did she see the quartet of Reavers who would eventually stumble upon it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

 **Around** the time Liv Night-Born was finishing up her business with the Skaal, Miraak was resurfacing from the black void of unconsciousness and was greeted with pain. A great storm of it thundered on the left side of his face and echoed mercilessly in his skull. He recalled being struck by the Dragonborn's brother, but it _felt_ like he'd been slugged by a giant. Then there was the other pain—the pain that went deeper than his physical wounds, felt a hundred-fold worse than his throbbing face and head, worse even than being incarcerated in Apocrypha. It was the absolute _agony_ of losing his power.

For one wretched moment, Miraak entertained the notion that he might have been better off dead. He usually wasn't one to yield to the weaker emotions, like despair, but in this case—this _unimaginable_ case—he allowed himself to angst over and mourn this overwhelming loss.

In an instant, all his meticulously laid out plans had gone to ruin. Everything he had done, all he had suffered and sacrificed for power had been for nothing. In an _instant_ , his Voice and magic had been stripped away. Losing the latter was no more painful than a flesh wound when compared to losing the former. _That_ cut him to a depth that no physical blade could ever reach. When Akatosh had taken it from him—yes, he _did_ believe the Dragonborn's claim that this was the Time Dragon's doing, for who else could silence his Voice in an instant?—the god had cruelly carved out a part of his soul.

Punishment, the Last had said, but also a second chance. No doubt what Akatosh would have them believe, but Miraak was not so naïve as the woman. The gods did not grant second chances. This was condemnation, nothing more. Akatosh had sentenced him to live out the rest of his life in the most degrading and insulting way possible: Voiceless, without magic, placed below even ordinary people, for even _they_ could cast a spell with enough effort. And he had done little to deserve this. He had only exercised the right of freewill, which the gods had given to all mortals. Where was the fairness in punishing him for merely forging his own path, for wanting to be more than just the weapon Akatosh would wield against His mutinous firstborn?

A great injustice had been done to him, and damned if he was going to let it go unanswered. Somehow, some way, he would settle the score, even if it was the last thing he ever did. Akatosh's cruelty would be repaid in full. It would, of course, require more careful thought, which he would be able to accomplish more efficiently when his head _wasn't_ throbbing like an infected tooth. In the meantime, Miraak supposed he should open his eyes and gauge his external situation.

It was decidedly unfavorable, which, all things considered, didn't surprise him.

The daylight and its unholy brightening of the snowy forest hurt his eyes and amplified his hammering headache ten times over, which in turn caused an alarming wave of vertigo and nausea. He tried to command the sudden urge to vomit and was only just successful. Not that it would have really mattered, as there was little to nothing in him to make an unpleasant reappearance. The last time he'd eaten was on the day before Vahlok's confrontation and Hermaeus Mora's subsequent 'intervention'. He'd been pulled into Apocrypha on an empty stomach, and there it had stayed empty due to the realm's timelessness. He had not even required any mortal necessities like rest and sustenance inside the realm, nor had he aged a single day; he had been more or less immortal up until the point Mora decided to replace him with the latest Dragonborn.

As the vertigo and queasiness subsided a little, Miraak realized that at some point during his unconsciousness he had been moved into an upright position and up against the trunk of a tree, judging by the rough, solid surface pressing at his back and the uncomfortable root under his arse. He next noticed that he was _tied_ to the aforementioned trunk with a lengthy stretch of rope.

Well, of course. That was to be expected of the situation he now found himself in, wasn't it? That didn't make it any less irksome, however.

The Dragonborn or her brother (or both) had gone around his torso with the rope four times and had his hands bound behind his back, so tight he couldn't feel his fingers. They had, however, forgone binding his legs, perhaps under the assumption that those bonds were enough to hold him—an assumption they would soon regret.

Miraak glanced around this patch of the forest and spotted the bastard who'd hit him. The man stood at the eastern edge of the ring of trees with his back to him, staring out into the woods as if waiting or looking for something. His sister, likely; the Dragonborn was nowhere in sight.

Good. That would simplify things. If he could somehow free himself without drawing attention, he was certain he could take the man by surprise. Getting out of this rope would require something sharp, though. His sword was not an option; last he recalled it was stuck to a tree some fifty-odd yards into the forest. His staff had some sharp protrusions he could utilize, but a brief glance around the ground established that it was gone, along with his mask and the Black Book.

Miraak knew straight away who had taken them. It was no coincidence that his possessions (probably the sword too; it wouldn't have made sense to leave it behind) just happened to disappear at the same time as the Last Dragonborn. Doubtless she meant to leave him with little chance of defending himself, attacking, or escaping them, if not simply to administer her own brand of cruelty. From what he had learned of her so far, she seemed to possess morals and a sense of honor, but she could just as easily jam a finger in a raw wound when she wanted to—figuratively, at least. A part of him still burned furiously at her naming him 'Voiceless' with such impudent mockery.

The woman would have been disappointed to know the loss of his possessions didn't bother or deter him as much as she'd probably hoped it would. The mask had a strong enchantment on it that boosted his magicka reserves, but without the ability to cast spells it was utterly useless. The enchanted sword and staff were, admittedly, a regretful loss, but weapons could be replaced and he could wield even the simplest to great effect. And the Black Book…well, there was no going back _there_. As much as he hated to acknowledge it, the Dragonborn had been right. Returning to Apocrypha would have been suicidal. Miraak had proven to be an unruly, disloyal Champion in Mora's many all-seeing eyes. The Daedric Lord had no reason to let him live, let alone help him regain the use of his power, but he had more than enough reasons to kill him. So, it seemed the Dragonborn _had_ in fact acted out of his benefit when she'd magicked the Black Book away from him. How kind of her. Perhaps he would thank her before he killed her. _Slowly._

As for the matter of this rope binding him…well, Miraak had learned at a young age how to use his environment to his advantage. The forest was littered with stone, from the biggest boulders to the smallest pebbles. He needed only to find one small enough with an edge to saw through the rope and a larger one to bash the brother's brains in—a nice little gift for the Dragonborn when she returned.

Keeping an eye on the man, Miraak flexed his fingers repeatedly to return some feeling to them and then dug them through the snow at the bottom of the tree trunk behind his back, feeling out for any stones. He found nothing there but hard, packed dirt and the upper base of the root he was sitting on. Twisting his body to the left—as much as the rope across his chest would allow, which wasn't much—he stretched his hands as far to the trunk's right side as he could, the strain making his shoulders pop. After a moment of blindly groping around, his fingers finally grazed a promising collection of rocks; some were too large to get a grip on, but there were other, smaller ones.

Miraak worked these behind his back so that he could inspect their edges, and no sooner had he then the Dragonborn's sibling grew tired of his vigil over the forest. Hefting his dark greatsword upon a shoulder, he turned around to face him. Miraak stilled, for what little good it did him. From the smug expression that came over the other man's face, he apparently had eyes in the back of his head.

"If you're searching for a way out of your bonds, don't bother," Leif said as he strode over to him. "I paid a pretty septim for that rope in Skyrim. It's strong enough to hold a giant."

Miraak narrowed his eyes. He was many things, but a gullible idiot wasn't one of them. From what he could tell, the rope was made of hempen fibers and there was nothing special about it; there were no tell-tale signs of enchantment. Hemp was strong, but it wasn't strong enough to truss a giant with any efficiency. "If you wish to fool me into submitting to my position, you will need to do better than that."

Leif offered a nasty grin. "I don't need to do anything. You look rather subdued from where I stand, but if you insist on wasting your efforts trying to escape, by all means. I could use a good laugh." With that, he stepped away and went to stand beneath a tree not far from the one Miraak was tied to. He stuck his massive Daedric sword in the ground, leaned back against the tree, folded his arms at his chest, and _stared_ at him. It seemed the man was going to keep vigil over him now.

 _Damn you to Oblivion,_ Miraak thought at him, grimacing. So much for escaping. Even if he could have gotten out of the rope binding his hands, there was no way he would have freed himself of the rope across his chest with the man watching him; it was too tight to slip out from under and the bastard would be on him before he could saw his way through it.

 _Shit._ He leaned his head back against the tree trunk and heaved out a frustrated sigh. Akatosh must surely be looking down on him now, laughing. Probably Hermaeus Mora, too.

Much as he hated it, there was little he could do now but wait. The Dragonborn wouldn't kill him, he knew that for fact; she wouldn't have bothered Shouting him out of Apocrypha otherwise, and it would go against Akatosh's will besides. But she had _something_ planned for him, no doubt. Once Miraak figured out what it was, perhaps he could use it to his advantage.

* * *

Perhaps an hour or so later the Last Dragonborn finally decided to grace them with her presence. The brother hadn't moved a muscle nor given up on his vigil in that space of time. Miraak had nodded off twice seeing as how there was little else to do, and awoke each time to find the man still leaning back against the tree, arms folded, expressionless green eyes watching him. The bastard was dogged and patient, he would give him that much.

Miraak heard the woman long before he saw her. No doubt the entire island could, her tuneless but exuberant voice belting out in song. He grimaced, fairly certain he'd heard pleasanter sounds from dying horkers.

Liv strode through the frozen trees and into their makeshift 'camp' a moment later, her butchered rendition of _Ragnar the Red_ coming to its coda.

Her brother clapped his hands slowly as he pushed away from the tree. "Way to kill a classic, sister."

The woman laughed and performed a small if not awkward curtsey, hitching up an edge of her white robe. "Thank you. Shall I do _The Age of Oppression_ next? Or _Aggression_? I'll gladly murder either version."

"What took you so long?"

"The Skaal were particularly chatty today," Liv answered, "and on the way here I was waylaid by a gang of Rieklings, harassed by a couple of werebears, and set upon by a family of netch—you know, the _usual."_

"No doubt they took offense to your singing, if you can call it that," Leif teased, grinning. Then the grin slipped from his face and was replaced by a serious expression. "Did you warn them?"

The Dragonborn suddenly looked uncomfortable, almost guilty, as she lifted a hand to her neck and tugged at one of the amulets hanging there. Her eyes shifted to Miraak, where they narrowed resentfully, then returned to her brother. "There's something we need to discuss…away from certain ears."

Leif nodded, and then the siblings stepped out of earshot of their hostage. Miraak strained nonetheless to hear what they were saying, but could make nothing of the incomprehensible static of their whispering. The conversation didn't seem to be a pleasant one, from what he could see. The Dragonborn spoke animatedly with her hands, and at one point she clenched them into a pair of fists and turned such a furious shade of red that Miraak was almost certain she was going to clout her sibling. _That_ would have been a satisfying sight; perhaps not as satisfying as seeing _her_ get a good thrashing, but satisfying enough. Unfortunately, the woman restrained herself. The brother wore a disapproving frown throughout the whole discourse and let loose two verbal paroxysms of "Are you mad!?" and "This is foolishness!" Then it was over. The Dragonborn scoffed loudly, threw her hands in the air in a gesture that said _I'm done with this_ , and walked away from her scowling brother…

…and made a beeline right for him. Reflexively, Miraak pulled in a breath to Shout her down, only to be painfully reminded that he couldn't. Losing the Voice was very much like losing a limb, in that there was still the instinct to use it even though it was gone. He wasn't certain if he would ever get used to this. He shouldn't _have_ to get used to it. It was undue, unjust, _unfair_. Miraak bared his teeth in silent anger and clenched his bound hands into fists. Damn Akatosh! Curse Him thrice and damn Him to Oblivion!

Abruptly, the woman halted and stared down at him, frowning. Miraak felt something queer, then: a wave of foreign emotion pouring over him, into him. It was coming from her. He had always been capable of perceiving some nuance of what lay in another's heart; their intentions and emotions, even the hidden and repressed—the ability was intrinsic to all Dragonborn—but this was…different _._ Stronger, uncontrolled; he didn't perceive the emotion so much as he was being invaded by it, and he _felt_ it almost as if it were his own. The only time he had ever felt another's emotions so strongly was when he absorbed a dragon's soul. Queer indeed—queer and _disturbing_.

He could've done without that emotion, as well. The woman felt sorry for him, and there was nothing smug or condescending in the feeling. It was the kind of distant compassion one might feel for a stranger who's lost a loved one, and that somehow made it even worse. He felt a stab of unwelcome shame to his man's (and dragon's) pride.

"Spare me your pity, Dragonborn," Miraak growled as he struggled uselessly with his binds, wanting nothing more than to wrap his hands around her neck and _squeeze_. "You may have won for now, but I _will_ rise from this and you _will_ find suffering at my hands for all you have done."

Liv raised her brows at the outburst and laughed in a sharp, singular way— _Ha!_ —which Miraak thought was _beyond_ annoying. She stepped closer and knelt down beside him in the snow, her long braid falling over a shoulder and coiling in her lap like a red-gold serpent. Her eyes fixed on his. They were very blue, Miraak reluctantly noticed, the same icy color of Stalhrim.

"You should be ashamed of yourself," she said with a stern tone. "You're like a million years old, and yet you act like a petulant child, blaming _me_ —probably Akatosh, as well—for the consequences of _your_ deeds. Frankly, that kind of behavior is beneath even you. Grow up and take responsibility for your actions."

Miraak scowled at her in confounded outrage. Here he was, being lectured— _lectured!_ —by someone who was not just younger than him, but _four eras_ younger _._ This horrible, unimaginable day was officially complete.

"Anyway," Liv went on. "Here's the deal: my brother and I are returning to Skyrim, and considering the circumstances, I think it would be in your best interests to accompany us for the foreseeable future."

Under different conditions Miraak might have laughed at such a ludicrous suggestion. Then again, under different conditions they wouldn't be having this conversation because she would be _dead_. "Indeed? You know, somehow I doubt you have your sworn enemy's best interests at heart."

The Dragonborn said nothing for a moment, merely stared at him with probing, searching, scrutinizing eyes. They made Miraak feel like he was being stripped down to nothing, dissected for her study. It was maddeningly uncomfortable, and it took most of his willpower not to look away.

When the woman finally spoke it was with a serious tone of voice: "You shouldn't think so highly of yourself. Alduin was a sworn enemy. You were, and still are, more of a nuisance. But, nuisance or not—and whether you want to believe it or not—I _do_ have your best interests at heart. Do you know why? Because Akatosh does. He must see something in you, something worthy of granting a second chance. And I trust His judgment."

Much as he disliked to, Miraak _did_ believe her, for he sensed no ill intent—other than a solid resolve to get under his skin, that was. Even if she had been trying to hide any ulterior motives, he would've been able to sniff them out. He still had that Dragonborn power at least. "Did you also have my best interests at heart when you Shouted me from Apocrypha, effectively destroying my plans and causing me to lose all my power? You will forgive me if I do not see the benefit in your company."

And as soon as those words were off his tongue, something clicked inside the cunning machinery that was his mind and it began cycling at its full, terrible speed. He was mistaken. There _was_ a benefit here, an opportunity to exact his revenge on her and the god that had 'fucked him over', as people of this age were wont to say. If Akatosh could use the woman to do His bidding, so could he. It would take no more than gaining her trust, winning her over, and all the while he would whittle away at her faith in her god and her relationship with her sibling until both crumbled into bitter dust. She would come to see that he was the only person she could trust, and he would use that to control her, corrupt her, make her _his_ instrument. It would take time, but oh would it be _worth_ it in the end. He will have exacted the _perfect_ revenge, and through her, he would make the world bow to him.

But it would be over before it even began if she sensed his intentions, so Miraak banished those glorious thoughts and feelings of vengeance from the forefront of his mind. He was cautious but not overly concerned about her perceptive abilities. The urgency to stop Alduin had left her with little time to hone any powers beyond the Voice, which had become evident to him upon first stealing one of her dragon souls. Not even at his full power and it had been effortless to take it away from her. If she could not even command a dragon's soul, chances were she had little to no command over her perceptive abilities. Vanquisher of the World-Eater the woman may have been, but she still had much to learn about being Dragonborn.

"And what benefits are there in staying here?" Liv asked, showing no indication that she sensed what he was planning for her; she exuded calm, and her face and eyes showed only mild curiosity. "You said it yourself; all your power is lost, all your plans destroyed. There's nothing left for you here other than that decrepit temple, which serves little purpose now outside of shelter—or your _tomb_ , if the people on this island find out you're alive, free, and in no position to defend yourself against an armed and angry mob. You'll be easy prey."

"Precisely as you intended, no doubt," Miraak scoffed. "Did you think I would be too dim to realize it was you who made off with my possessions?"

"Honestly, I didn't—and still don't—care. They're gone and that's that. They would have done you little good, in any case. I doubt you'd be capable of taking on the _hordes_ of people you've pissed off, even with that enchanted sword and staff." Liv paused thoughtfully before adding: "Actually, I think there may be _one_ person on this island who'd spare your life, but only to conduct weird experiments on you. Personally, I wouldn't mind seeing that, for the _entertainment_ if nothing else."

Miraak looked offended. How dare she. He could _easily_ exterminate the pathetic insects that populated this island, and with little more than a dagger. "You foolishly underestimate me."

"No, Arrogance, _you_ foolishly underestimate _them_ , and under the current circumstances, _I'm_ the only thing standing between you and the angry mobs."

"Ah, so you would be my stalwart protector, then?" he retorted sarcastically, unable to help himself. "I'm _touched_."

"Aye, in the head." She laughed at her own dig then waved a dismissive hand in the air. "But never mind your mental imbalance. Since you seem so certain I'm of no benefit to you, I suppose now would be a good time to mention I might be able to guide you back to what you've lost."

Miraak blinked, so caught off guard by that unexpected disclosure he wasn't certain he'd heard her right. " _…What_?"

"Well, I'm not entirely sure if that's what Akatosh meant or not," she admitted. "Only…whatever it is you're meant to learn from all this in order to get back your powers, I've already learned it, and according to Akatosh, I might or might not be some kind of guide for you. So…" She shrugged and put her hands out in a gesture that said _make of that what you will._

Miraak grimaced. He detected no lie in her words; she believed what she was saying was true, but that didn't mean it _wasn't_ a lie, a falsehood Akatosh had fed her and wanted her to believe, wanted them _both_ to believe. But…what if it wasn't? What if there was a chance he could actually…

 _No_. He shook the thought away. No. This was a trick, false hope. It was part of the punishment, to make him believe there was a chance to gain back what he lost when there really wasn't. He would never get his powers back, not through her and not through anything he could do to earn it all back. All he had now was this desire for vengeance, and it would be served. It would be served _bitterly_ cold.

The woman was watching him carefully, her brow furrowed. "You don't believe me."

"I simply find it odd that you neglected to mention this before," Miraak said. "But perhaps it was your _intention_ to withhold such a significant detail, to spring it on me when it became advantageous for you to do so."

Liv shrugged. "I didn't think it was relevant before, mostly because I had planned to leave your arse here to rot. That's changed."

Miraak raised his brows. "Indeed? And what brought about this profound change of heart?"

"Ah, ah," she said, grinning and wagging a finger in front of his face. "A woman must have her secrets. Now, you have a decision to make, and I'd thank you to make it soon. I'd like to get home sometime this week."

Miraak had already made his decision several moments before, but he held off on answering a bit longer for appropriate effect; if he was too quick to reply, she or her brother might suspect something. "You have purposefully left much unclear for me to make this decision. I require more information."

" _What_?" Liv groused impatiently. "What exactly isn't clear?"

"Your _intentions_ for me, obviously. Should I agree to this, will I also unwittingly agree to remain your prisoner?"

The woman lifted her brows. "Oh, _that_. Well. That depends entirely upon you and how you choose to conduct yourself, doesn't it?"

"So, play nice or else?"

"Aye, 'play nice' as in 'rein in any murderous intentions'. That will suffice. It would be rather presumptuous of me to expect you to be friendly toward us."

 _As presumptuous as expecting me not to kill you_ , Miraak thought, but he said: "I see. And that is all you expect from me, that I simply not attempt to kill you?"

"Or my brother. Or any innocent people." The woman produced a grin that was unexpectedly ferocious. "But feel free to kill my enemies, if you like. I have quite a few."

"And I'm certain their enmity toward you is justified," Miraak said with a casual tone, as if he were merely commenting on the weather.

The Dragonborn frowned, but otherwise ignored the remark. "So, what say you, then? Will you join us?"

"I…" He paused just long enough to lower his gaze and heave out a reconciliatory sigh, again for effect. "As much as it _pains_ me to admit it, you are right; there is little reason for me to stay here." He looked at her again, resentfully. "And if you are meant to 'guide' me back to my power then I suppose I must join you, mustn't I?"

Liv looked surprised and just a little suspicious. "Wait, so you're actually going to try to learn whatever it is Akatosh wants you to learn? Because, essentially, that's what it comes down to. I might be able to put you on the right track, but you're the one who has to do the rest."

"I'm aware of this. If that is what it takes to gain back my power, then yes, I will do whatever is necessary."

Liv nodded, though she now looked less certain than she had before and Miraak detected a stronger sense of doubt. Not good. He needed to allay that suspicion.

"I did not just lose my power, Dragonborn," he said. "I could live without the ability to cast spells, but without the Voice…surely you, of all people, can understand what that means. To lose the Voice is to lose a part of yourself. I will do anything to get that back."

Again the woman nodded, but now he sensed that pity rather than the suspicion. Well, better that than the other. "Aye, I get what it means. Another reason to be thankful I'm not you." She looked over her shoulder, missing the eye-roll Miraak gave to that remark, and held her hand out to her brother, who was leaning back against his tree and wearing a look of utmost disapproval. "Leif, let me have your dagger so I can cut him loose."

At first it seemed the man wasn't going to move, the frown on his face deepening. Then he released a resigned breath and pushed himself away from the tree. He strode over, pulling an ebony dagger from a small sheath dangling from his belt. He slapped it hilt-first into his sister's palm. "This is by far the stupidest decision you will ever make," Leif told her. "Don't say I didn't warn you, sister." Then he shot Miraak a dark, foreboding look. "And _you_ —I will be watching every fucking move you make."

Miraak suspected as much, which was why he intended to turn the Dragonborn against her brother first. The two were close, but he sensed some unidentifiable tension there that warranted further study before he could put it to proper use. All in good time.

It took the woman a few moments and a lot of frustrated cursing to cut through the rope. Apparently, it _was_ stronger than it looked. Once she had him freed, she leaned back to look at him and said with her serious voice, "You know, for what it's worth, I didn't know what would happen to you once I Shouted you from Apocrypha; I didn't know Akatosh intended to take your Voice away. I only found out afterward."

Miraak fixed her with a cold, hateful look as he suppressed—just barely—a strong urge to grab that dagger from her hand and jam it hilt-deep in her throat. Was _that_ supposed to comfort him somehow? "For what it's worth? It's worth _nothing_. Knowing would not have changed anything; you still would have done what Akatosh bid you. Perhaps you should follow your own advice, Dragonborn, and take responsibility for your actions. _Ignorance_ does not excuse them."

The woman frowned, but said nothing, which was fine by him. It was about time the sanctimonious bitch was put in her place.

Miraak moved to stand, and was immediately shoved back against the tree he'd spent the past couple hours tied to and was looking forward to getting away from. He looked from the woman's hand, where it was planted firmly against his chest, to her challenging expression, and clenched his hands into fists. If she wanted a fight, he would _give_ her a—

Her other hand came up suddenly, pressing against the left side of his face, gentle not hostile. Miraak jerked away from it at once, feeling both confused and startled.

"What are you doing? Don't touch me."

" _Relax_ ," Liv told him, peeved by his overreaction. "I was only going to heal the mess that is presently your face."

"I don't want or need your healing."

"Pft," she uttered, rolling her eyes. "What you want matters little to me, and you only _think_ you don't need it, but you haven't seen the huge knot on your face. If it keeps swelling like that you're not going to be able to see out of that eye. So, let me just…"

She reached for his face again, but Miraak wasn't _having_ it. He knocked her offensive hand down and quickly got to his feet before she could even think of making a third attempt.

" _Fine_ , you ungrateful lout," Liv said, exasperated. "Don't complain to me when that knot's as big as your ego." She grabbed the ebony dagger from where she'd lain it in the snow and stood up.

Leif took the blade from her, tucking it away in its sheath. "If we leave now, we should make it to Raven Rock before the Northern Maiden sets sail." He turned slightly and pointed a finger at Miraak. " _You_ will go ahead of us, where I can keep an eye on you."

The former Dragon Priest merely shrugged on the matter. It made no difference to him.

Without a word, he set off through the snow-laden forest, the other two falling in step behind him. And damned if it didn't feel good to at long last have solid, Nirn-earth under his boots again; to feel the cold wind on his face and the breath of home in his lungs; to smell the pine of the forest and the salt of the sea; to hear the crunch of snow beneath his boots and birds calling from their trees; everything he ever took for granted.

He was free, at last; perhaps not the way he had imagined and planned for, but free was free and Apocrypha was behind him now.

* * *

A /N: Just a small note. In case you haven't noticed in previous chapters, I plan to take a lot of creative liberties with Shouts and spells. I regret the game world doesn't allow you to have nearly as much fun with them as the literary world. *sigh*


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

* * *

 **Liv** , Leif, and their new 'companion' didn't reach Raven Rock until well after nightfall, each dusted in the ash that almost constantly drifted down on the southern region of the island from the Vvardenfell volcano, aptly called Red Mountain, which was just across a bit of sea down south. A journey that normally took five hours had taken seven.

When the high stone rampart that secured the small town came into view, Liv spoke with somewhat muffled speech, "I hope the Northern Maiden is still docked. I thought for sure we'd make it before sundown." She had the hood of her white robe pulled over her head, holding one edge of it over her nose and mouth, an effort to guard against the choking ash.

"We would have if you had not _insisted_ on stopping to pick every flower and ore deposit on the way," Miraak was quick to point out, his orotund voice flavored with vexation. During the unnecessarily long trip, he had come to the conclusion that the woman had the attention span of a gnat, constantly getting distracted by whatever happened upon her path; if it wasn't the native flora or the raw metals, it was something else. It was a wonder she had ever gotten around to vanquishing the World-Eater.

"I hate to agree with him, but…" Leif grumbled from behind his own hood.

"Then _don't,"_ Liv said. "I wasn't picking 'flowers' anyway; I was picking _plants_ of alchemical value. And that ore will come in handy sooner or later."

The eldest Night-Born rolled his eyes and huffed at that. "That's what you said about the tons and tons of ore you've got squirreled away in our cellar at home, never mind the chests full of gems you refuse to sell and the collection of weapons and armor that we don't even _need._ I've read of dragons hoarding things, but I thought that was just fairy fiction."

Liv rolled her eyes right back at him. He had been like this off and on since they'd left the forest; cross and sulking like a child been denied a treat, looking for any reason to start up an argument. No doubt his mood was related to their earlier quarrel over what to do with a certain jumped-up prick. Leif wholly disapproved of her decision to take the man along with them for the foreseeable future, insisting that it was insane and foolish, that they should stick with one of their original plans of either leaving him on the island tied up to a tree or dumping him in Cidhna Mine since he no longer had the power to break out of any jails—not easily, anyhow. Leif also disliked that she had lied to the Skaal and refused to see her reasoning for doing so, but he was allowed the luxury of not having to like it or understand it; _he_ was not the one who would've had to inform the Skaal that the enemy lived at a foreign god's behest and their shaman had died for nothing, which would have destroyed their sense of justice in the world. That had been Liv's burden of responsibility, and so she had chosen to lie to spare them that grief. And no amount of sulking on her brother's part was going to make her regret the decision.

"Well, you know what they say: better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it," Liv said, hoping that might put an end to the pointless argument. Leif wasn't usually petty enough to let one drag on and on.

Today seemed to be the exception, however.

"And while you're having and not needing, the blacksmiths are being put out of business for lack of materials," he said, "since you've mined damn near all the ore veins in both Skyrim _and_ Solstheim."

"If you're going to exaggerate _,_ I'm done listening to you."

"You stopped listening to me the moment we came to this island," Leif mumbled under his breath.

Liv heard him nonetheless, but chose to stay true to her word and ignored him. She turned her attention to the other Dragonborn, who was, in spite of Leif's earlier orders that he walk ahead of them, now keeping pace with them at her right. "And you—I'd advise you to keep your mouth shut."

In response to this, the ancient man gave her a sharp, dirty look, feeling a spark of anger flare up in his chest. No one had ever told him to 'keep his mouth shut' before—not without getting roasted for it, at least. Miraak couldn't decide which he hated more, her barefaced impudence or the fact that he couldn't punish it the way he wanted to.

"I'm serious," Liv said to that look. "Unless you like being attacked, I think it'd be wise if you didn't speak once we're in town. I assume you didn't make very many public appearances—other than those times you etherealized just to taunt me and make off with my dragon souls that is—so if anyone was to recognize you for anything it'd be your thrice-damned _voice_."

Oh. Right. _That_. "I suppose…that is a logical possibility," Miraak grudgingly allowed.

Passing beneath the Bulwark, the trio entered the humble settlement of Raven Rock. Its main and only thoroughfare, which was paved with ash and lit up by the standing braziers and hanging lamps scattered about its length, was mostly empty. That was not unusual. Once day was at its end, people headed straight for the indoors and didn't come out again until morning—the less time spent under the ashfall the better. Even the night owls tended to keep inside, usually over at the Retching Netch cornerclub. Only the Redoran Guard, the town's version of a security force, was out at all hours of the day, standing at their sentry posts or patrolling their rounds.

At the west side of town, where the ash-laden land gave off to the gloomy expanse of ocean, there was a modest wharf comprised of four wood-planked piers, three short and one long and all in desperate need of restoration. Liv was much relieved to see the Northern Maiden, a small passenger and sometimes cargo vessel of Nordic make, docked at the longer pier; she really didn't want to have to wait until tomorrow to get off this wretched island. Two Nord sailors were loading shipping crates onto the boat while the captain, called Gjalund Salt-Sage, barked at them to hurry it up.

Liv tugged at her brother's cloak. "Go buy us passage on the Maiden, okay? I need to pick up a few things from the manor before we leave." Which was true, but she also had an ulterior motive that would hopefully benefit her brother's ill mood in the long run. She turned to Miraak. "I think it'd be best if you came with me."

" _No_ ," Leif objected at once. "Not happening. I don't want you alone with him. No doubt that's just the opportunity he's waiting for." He glared at Miraak, his hand straying to his greatsword in an unspoken threat.

Miraak's turquoise eyes followed the gesture then flickered away, brushing it off with indifference.

"To do _what_?" Liv laughed at her sibling's high suspicion. "It's not like he's going to kill me."

 _Not yet_ , Miraak thought as he examined the settlement, finding it both structurally crude and visually unappealing. It was as if someone had thrown some shoddy buildings together without any forethought and decided to call it a town.

"I may be able to help him get his powers back, so that makes me valuable," Liv went on. "Besides, he's one unarmed man, and I'm the vanquisher of the World-Eater. I'm pretty sure I can handle him if he tries anything."

"Aye, you handled him real well when he had his hands wrapped around your throat," Leif dared.

Liv bristled. "I was _seconds_ away from lighting him up like a funeral pyre before you interfered."

"No, you weren't," Leif laughed, but it wasn't a pleasant laugh. It was bitter as vinegar. "That likely would've killed him, and killing him goes against your god's will, doesn't it?" He thrust a finger at Miraak, who was mildly amused by all this, though it didn't show. "You think he doesn't realize that? That he's not going to use it to his advantage?"

"Killing him only goes against Akatosh's will if it's flat out _murder_ ," Liv said. "He's free to make his own choices, even the stupid ones. And if he chooses to attack me, or you, or any innocent people, I will intervene without a second thought, make no mistake. If he dies a horrible death as a result, well that's on him..." She paused, sensing eyes on her, and looked around. The sentry posted outside the Councilor's house was watching them. Liv looked at her brother again. "This conversation is over. I'll be fine, Leif. _Please_ just go buy our passage before the Northern Maiden leaves without us?"

"Right," Leif sighed. "Whatever you want." He started away, then stopped and turned back, his expression one of tight concern. "I don't know if it's Akatosh or this shit with Mora or _him_ , but you've not been yourself since we got here." Leif didn't wait for a response, stalking off for the docks.

Liv dismissed that, mostly because it wasn't true. She hadn't changed. The situation had, and Leif didn't like _how_ it had changed. He didn't like it and he couldn't control it, and if there was anything her brother couldn't stand it was feeling powerless. So Leif did what Leif did best: instead of accepting it for what it was he exerted what little control he did have and made it into something else. He couldn't help it, not really. It was just some sort of defense mechanism.

Puffing out a sigh, Liv marched off up the ashy thoroughfare toward Severin Manor, calling over her shoulder, "Come, Arrogant". Having the good sense not to speak his cursed name for any present bodies to hear.

Miraak gritted his teeth in fury—how _dare_ she speak to him as if he were a dog!—but nonetheless swallowed his offended pride and followed. He had a suspicious feeling he was going to be eating a lot of offended pride around this _unbearable_ creature, so he supposed he might as well get accustomed to the taste. It was a small price to pay for what would come in the end, when the world groveled at his feet.

In a few long strides, the man caught up to her side—he _refused_ to walk behind her, in the place of an inferior—and asked in a low, quiet voice, "Why should it matter that I accompany you on this simple errand?"

Liv shrugged. "I thought my dear brother could use some time to himself, however short. He isn't exactly happy with me at the moment and he hates you for obvious reasons, so hopefully this little respite from his sources of misery will put him in a more agreeable mood. A grumpy Leif and a four-hour boat trip are not a pleasant mix, trust me. Besides, there was a likely chance of him handing you over to the Redoran Guard if left alone with you. Wouldn't want _that_ now, would we?"

Miraak, always the opportunist, seized upon that last bit as subtly as he could manage. "Are you implying you do not trust him?"

"No, I am _not_ implying that," she said. "He just doesn't agree with my decision to have you with us, and he's…overprotective, which I suppose is only natural; in most cases, the elder sibling is always overprotective of the younger."

"'Overprotective' is merely a kinder way of saying 'controlling', and people only try to control the things they fear and do not understand. Perhaps _he_ is the one who does not trust _you_." There, that little seed of discord was planted.

"You don't know anything about him," Liv snapped, rejecting the implication. Leif may have liked to be in control, but he never tried to control her. And they trusted each other with their lives. "So, I'll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself."

"I know more than you believe," Miraak replied, unaffected by her hostility. "You are the second most powerful Dragonborn who ever lived—"

"Second?" Liv interjected. "Uh, _no_. Power is truth, according to dragon philosophy. I defeated Alduin, the most powerful dragon, so therefore it can only be true that I am the most powerful Dragonborn."

"I am merely cautioning you as the one with the most experience," he went on as if she hadn't even spoken. "There will always be those who will seek to control you out of fear of what you are and the power you possess. And sometimes the enemy is closer than you realize; sometimes it's the ones you trust most. I know this, _Dovahkiin_ , because it happened to me. They tried to control me."

"'They'?" Liv asked, although she was not convinced _at all_ that he was merely trying to 'caution' her. If anything he was trying to mess with her head. Let him try; it wasn't going to work.

"My peers among the Dragon Cult," Miraak spoke openly now. They had just passed the blacksmith's shop, and were now the only ones on this side of the thoroughfare, out of earshot of any sentries. "Vahlok, especially." He spat the name with utter hatred. "He was—"

"Almost the death of you. Aye, I know _,_ " she said, not even bothering to hide her smug amusement.

Miraak chose to ignore that dig. "He was my mentor, did you know _that_?"

Liv raised her brows in surprise. "I did not."

"I apprenticed under him for a few short years, and during that time I mistakenly came to trust to him, even befriended him. But when Vahlok realized how quickly I was rising through the ranks of the priesthood with my quick grasp of magic and inherent mastery of the _Thu'um,_ he became jealous of my power, fearful that I would surpass him. And so he sought to control me, to keep me below him, but I was never meant to be below _anyone._ "

Liv rolled her eyes. His level of conceit was simply _staggering._ "The Skaal's legends paint a very different picture of him. According to them, Vahlok was a wise and just leader, a paragon of loyalty and nobility."

"And which do you believe is more reliable, Dragonborn: stories passed down by oral tradition and thus subject to being altered, or _experience_? I understand you have met Vahlok. Did he seem noble and just to you?"

"Actually, he _did_ seem like a bit of an arsehole, like the majority of the Dragon Priest liches I've come across. Probably didn't help that I broke into his tomb, though ..." Liv trailed off, looking at him sharply. "Wait, how do you know about that? Were you _spying_ on me?"

Miraak didn't answer. There _had_ been a handful of occasions where he watched her from Apocrypha, but not by choice. They had been visions of a sort, bits and pieces of her present shoved into his mind by Hermaeus Mora, to taunt him with her rapid progression, the ever-growing power of her Voice; to threaten and warn him that he was expendable, easily replaced. Yes, he had known Mora was onto him, had known what Mora intended to do with him if he continued on his disobedient course, but it hadn't mattered. Only his freedom had, and he'd decided _nothing_ would stand in his way of having it.

"Well, whatever," Liv spoke on when she realized he had no intention of responding. "This all sounds like a load of horseshit to me. I don't see any reason Vahlok had to be jealous of you. I mean, he _defeated_ you, so clearly he was the more powerful."

"How little you know," Miraak scoffed. "As Dragonborn, I greatly outmatched him. I would have won that battle had Hermaeus Mora not interfered. He sought to imprison me in his realm when I refused to serve him any longer, and he chose that most inconvenient moment to do so."

Liv still didn't believe him, of course. "That's not what the stories say."

"You are a fool if you believe every story is the truth," he countered. "Most are little more than gross embellishments of the facts to make one side or the other look good. I _lived_ it."

Liv stopped walking, and when he realized she was no longer at his side, so did he. They faced each other through the ashfall, two Dragonborn separated by feet and thousands of years. Liv's Stalhrim eyes were cold, showing little beyond disdain. "You know how you separate cold, hard fact from the 'gross embellishments'? You look at the one thing that never changes. I've heard and read two different versions of your sordid little history, and the thing that never changes is you become the villain when you could have been the hero. _That's_ the only fact that matters. Everything else is trivial."

Miraak wasn't entirely certain why that angered him, but it did. He might have acquainted her with his fist again, but violence would not serve his purpose. "Unlike you, I chose to forge my own path, to command my own fate. If that makes me a villain, _so be it_."

Liv shook her head at the conceited idiot. "Forging your own path doesn't make you a villain. The path you chose to forge does. The world needed you, your people needed you, and you turned your back on them. For _what_? Considering where that path led you, can you honestly say it was worth it?"

"Yes," Miraak replied automatically. There were no regrets; there could be no regrets. To feel regret would be an admission of guilt, that he had done something wrong, but he hadn't.

Liv stood there and stared at him wordlessly, again in that way that made him feel uneasily like she was trying to dissect him with her eyes. Miraak endured it for all of two seconds and then marched past the woman. He didn't trust those eyes, and he was really starting to miss that mask.

"Do you even know where you're going?" she taunted after him, laughing.

Miraak swallowed down a groan of irritation. _Insufferable bitch._ Then, reluctantly, he stopped to let her catch up.

Severin Manor, an exact match to the rest of the Dunmer-made buildings in town, sat on a small ash-covered incline right across from the northern edge of the wharf and the old, abandoned stone building that served as shelter for a few of the settlement's homeless miners. Scathecraw and trama root grew around the manor and a lit brazier sat off to the right hand side of the entrance, crackling miserably as ash drifted into the swaying flames, though its warm light did little to cast back the gloomy ambiance that enfolded Raven Rock like a funeral shroud.

Liv pushed open one of the manor's double doors and stood back, flourishing her hand in an _after you_ gesture. "In accordance with the age-old dragon tradition, the elder goes first."

Miraak rolled his eyes as he pushed past her into the manor. "The elder _speaks_ first, and you broke with that tradition in Apocrypha."

Had she? Oh well. "Down the stairs," Liv directed, poking him in the back to get him moving faster. "First room on your left."

Miraak followed her directions, merely to get away from that offensive finger. Descending the stairs and coming to the main hall, he noted that the place showed no signs of being lived in, and in fact looked more like a store house than a home. Apparently the brother hadn't been exaggerating about her hoarding compulsion. There were many crates and barrels and chests clogging the hall, all of them stuffed to the brim with a mélange of items; everything from pieces and whole sets of armor to loads of gems and gold, jewelry and ore.

And weapons, Miraak noticed, damn near enough to arm a legion, though he didn't look at them for long. He didn't need the pointless temptation. It wasn't like the woman was going to let him anywhere near her weaponry, useless to her though it was.

The first room on the left was, unsurprisingly, another absurd menagerie of loot with a single bed crammed into a corner. If there were any other pieces of furniture in the room it would take a team of well-trained excavators to unearth it from all the junk.

While the woman rummaged through some barrels and stuffed things into knapsacks, Miraak stood just inside the doorway, trying not to think about the armory in the hall or how every last blade was just begging to be pinched. _Useless._ Even if he could have found a means of distracting her long enough to swipe one, he would not be able to properly conceal it. He had noticed only swords and axes and such, weapons too large or long to hide on his person. Damn it all. A mere dagger would have sufficed; one goddamn dagger so he had _something_ to defend himself with—was that too much to ask?

"I suppose it would be too presumptuous of me to request one of these weapons you clearly have no use for," he said, and why not? There was no harm in the attempt.

"Correct," Liv answered as she stuffed some vials into a knapsack.

"You will have to allow it sooner or later."

"I don't see any reason why I _have_ to."

"Then how do you propose I defend myself if we should come under attack?"

The woman looked over at him, smiling in a way that might have been sweet and innocent if not for her next mocking words. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about that. I'm your 'stalwart protector', remember?"

He fixed her with a withering look, his hackles successfully raised. "I do not need your protection!"

Liv straightened up from the chest she was kneeling at, shouldering the three knapsacks she now had fully packed. "And I don't need to be stabbed in my sleep, or to wake up to find my brother had been stabbed in his sleep."

Miraak growled his exasperation. He wanted to hit her again. "I have already given you my word that I will not kill you or your idiot brother or any innocent people. What more do you _want_ from me, woman?"

"Uh, no, you _didn't_ give your word, but that hardly matters seeing as how your word clearly means _shit._ I require proof that you can be trusted with a weapon."

He laughed without humor. Now she was just being wholly unreasonable _._ "How do you expect me to prove I can be trusted with a weapon if you don't _give_ me one?"

Liv considered this. He had a point and she had an idea. "I suppose you're right, and I know just the thing..."

Miraak stared at her, perplexed, as she crossed the room to another chest and opened it to go through its contents. That was easier than he'd thought, and now he wondered if he should be concerned.

"Ah, here it is!" the woman announced as she pulled free a shiny, bronze object and brought it over to him, holding it out. "There."

Miraak looked at it incredulously, his concern now justified. There was _always_ a goddamn catch. "…This is an eating utensil."

"A Dwemer dinner knife," she confirmed as she ran the pad of her thumb along its edge. "Sharp enough, though."

"Is this your poor attempt at a jest?" he bristled. But of course it wasn't _._ This was his _life_ now—wave after wave of punishment in all its cruel and unusual forms.

"No. This is how it's going to work," Liv said. "If you want a better weapon, you're going to earn the right to have it. You're going to take this eating utensil and prove whether or not you can be trusted with it. If I decide you can, perhaps I'll graduate you up to something more efficient."

Miraak stepped forward into her space, not as a man but as a dragon, and a downright furious one at that. "Don't think I cannot see your true intentions here. This is nothing more than a bid to control me, and I will not allow it. Do you understand me?I'll gladly break my word before I let you put me on a _leash_!"

Liv almost backed away from him. The way his quick, unbridled fury burned at her senses made her feel as if she were standing too close to a fire that might rage out of control and consume her at any second. But Liv stayed in place and endured the sensory invasion, clenching her jaw and balling her free hand into a fist. To step away might give him the false impression that she was still afraid of him. Not going to happen.

"Well," she sighed a moment later. "You are, of course, entitled to believe what you want even if it's _wrong_." She tucked the Dwemer knife in one of the knapsacks, slipped the bag off her shoulder, and _shoved_ it at him. "Do it or don't, but never say I didn't give you the chance."

Miraak made no attempt to take the pack, letting it drop to the floor. "I am not carrying this; I am not your _servant_."

"Well, now that we've established what you aren't," she said. "Pick it up. It's supplies you're going to need. Unless you'd rather do without. I wouldn't recommend it, seeing as how a person can only live so long without food and water, or the means to obtain them."

Miraak frowned at this unexpected show of...well, he supposed it was a kind of mercy to provide an enemy with the necessities of life. Had it been him in her place, he would've let her fend for herself. "Do you show all your enemies such mercy? It's a wonder you are still alive."

"Only the ones Akatosh has more or less bid me to look after, which is apparently only you. Don't you feel special," Liv said with dry tones. "Now, if you're finished acting like an _arse_ , let's go _._ "

"After you," he all but spat, snatching up the knapsack.

Leif met them halfway on their way back to the Northern Maiden, looking very much relieved to see his sister still alive and unharmed. He also noticed the laden knapsacks she was carrying and shook his head. _Women_. _Gods forbid they should ever pack light._ "Is all that shit really necessary?"

"It's _important_ shit," Liv replied. "Supplies, books to add to my collection, and gifts and souvenirs. I promised the latter pair to some people. Now, come on, let's go home!" And with that, she loped off up the thoroughfare, knapsacks banging heavily at her thighs, hood flying back from her head and freeing her long braid, excited feet kicking up ash. All at once, the grown woman looked like a ten-year-old running off to meet a long-missed parent.

The Northern Maiden's crew had finished loading those cargo crates some time ago and now stood around on deck, waiting on their passengers. Gjalund Salt-Sage hailed them at their approach.

"Good to see you again," the captain said as the trio boarded the vessel. He was a strapping Nord in his mid to late forties, sandy-blonde of hair and blue of eye. Perhaps his most distinguishing feature was his beaky, slightly out of alignment nose. A decent enough fellow, although a bit of a milk-drinker. He looked at Liv, smiling a little. "Heard you dealt with the madness on this island. Guess you found that lunatic who was trying to kill you, then?"

"Aye," she replied. "More or less."

Gjalund and his crew seemed to take no notice of the new addition to the Night-Born siblings, which was weird because Miraak was hard to miss what with his imposing size and that archaic robe with all its queer designs, never mind the I'm-superior-to-all-of-you _reek_ he put off. Perhaps they simply didn't care. All the better; that was less questions Liv would have to find lies for.

"Gods be praised for that," Gjalund said. "Well, let's push off. The wind's blowing in from the north and the clouds are moving out; Kyne's given us a perfect night for sailing. We should make good time."

And they did. Instead of a four hour trip, it was three and a half hours; smooth sailing the whole way. Liv used the time to study some new spell books she'd found on Solstheim while her brother did a little maintenance on his weapons and chatted with the crew. Miraak insisted on his own company, keeping as far away from the others as possible, although—and he hated to admit it to himself—he found their voices sort of reassuring despite the mundane conversations they were engaged in. When you've spent what felt like forever listening to the moans and mad ramblings of the trapped souls in Apocrypha and the unholy noises of its freakish native denizens, never mind Hermaeus Mora's _gloating_ , you could not help but appreciate the sounds of the living and the natural, of _home_. It was funny; before Apocrypha, he would not have even bothered to notice those trivial voices or their mundane interactions.

The boat pulled into Windhelm's harbor under the heavy veil of a snowstorm. It was mostly quiet, save for the low howl of the wind and the lapping of water against the stone piers. A few guards were out patrolling the docks, the flame from their torches dancing in the snowy night like torchbugs. If not for their presence, the city might have seemed deserted.

From the prow, Miraak gazed up at the hulking, stone 'city of kings' built by Ysgramor and his lot some four thousand-odd years ago. He had seen it once before, but had never been inside the city walls. There were a few obvious differences from the Windhelm of his age; the harbor was larger and the city's stone walls were cracked and crumbling in places, but otherwise it looked the same. It was strange how some things defied the passage of time; strange, but also sort of comforting.

As the boat finally docked, Liv thanked the captain then the three of them disembarked, heading up a set of stairs that eventually led them to a gate into the city.

"I need to drop off a gift for Ambarys at the New Gnisis cornerclub," Liv informed.

"Can't it wait until tomorrow?" Leif, who seemed to be in a much better mood now, asked. "It's late, and that Dunmer is crotchety enough when he's _not_ woken up in the dead of the night."

"Hmm, I suppose so."

"Great," Leif grinned. "Let's get out of here. I can't wait to get home to see her."

Liv smiled a little. Of course. Her, as in Lydia. Leif had been with his fair share of women, most of them unworthy of him, but he hadn't fallen nearly as hard for any of them as he had for Lydia. Three months after the woman had been named Liv's housecarl, she and Leif were married at the temple of Mara. Liv had never seen her brother so stupidly happy, and he had been stupidly happy ever since. She was glad for him of course, but she'd be lying if she said she didn't also envy him, maybe even resent him a little for that happiness. It was selfish, she knew, but his happiness, the simple bliss of being in love, never failed to remind Liv of the loss of hers; the pain, the anger,the _injustice_ of it. She had saved the world, but it cost her the man she loved.

 _I never should have let him come with me._ She had known it then, too, but he had been so stubborn, so _insistent_ that she not do it alone. _But I could have stopped him, and I didn't because—_

"Liv? You okay?"

Liv shook her head, as if coming out of a daze. Both men were staring at her. "Just thinking about how long we've been away. Lydia must be _lonely_." She gave a smile that felt as false as a mask.

"I intend to remedy that when we get home," Leif said with a grin so large it threatened to swallow his face.

Liv gave an exaggerated look of disgust to that not-so-subtle implication. "Ew."

They left Windhelm through the main gate and headed north to Winterhold, where home was. This late at night the stables were closed, so they had to settle with walking, a journey that would take two hours if they didn't run into any trouble. Liv might have summoned Odahviing to shorten the trip, but the dragon was growing intolerant of her using him as a means of getting around, had barely tolerated it to begin with. And then there was Miraak, the nefarious _betrayer_. As Alduin's former Right Hand, Odahviing was more likely to rip the traitorous priest's head off on the spot than listen to any explanation for his presence. Best to delay _that_ disaster waiting to happen for as long as possible. She needed to be careful about summoning Durnehviir around the man, as well, seeing as how the dragon could potentially sic an entire undead army on him.

Liv shook her head and laughed heartily. If someone had told her a year ago that she would be slaying the World-Eater, making friends of undead-looking dragons, and hauling around an ancient Dragonborn Dragon Priest, she would have called them _insane._

"What's so funny?" Leif asked, staring at her strangely.

"Life as a Dragonborn."

"Huh?"

"Nothing," Liv said, and then she playfully elbowed his arm like she had been doing since they were children. "Draugr-breath."

He smiled and elbowed her back a little harder, like always. "Horker-face."

And the ceremony was now complete; in that obscure but meaningful way that siblings often have, they had apologized to each other for their earlier disagreement.

"I think we should do something normal tomorrow," Liv said as they crunched up the snow-covered path to Winterhold.

"Like what?" Leif asked.

"I don't know...something. Maybe we could go to the Braidwood Inn in Kynesgrove and have some of Roggi's _fabulous_ spiced mead. Or relax in the hot springs near Bonestrewn Crest. Oh! Or hike the Seven Thousand Steps again. That was fun."

" _Fun_?" Leif replied incredulously. "You and I have very different ideas of what's considered fun. And aren't you _forgetting_ about something?" He looked pointedly at Miraak, who silently plodded along at her left and slightly ahead, reacquainting himself with the land.

Liv waved that off. "So we'll lock him in the cellar and I'll put up a few wards."

"You will do nothing of the sort," Miraak snapped, knowing full well they were talking about him.

"Well...I suppose you could come with us, if you promise to be a good boy," she jested.

If a look could kill, Miraak's would have murdered her ten times over in an instant. "I _detest_ you."

Liv laughed merrily. "Oh, lighten up. I was only teasing."

" _Don't._ "

Liv shook her head and remarked to her brother, "He was a lot more fun when he was stuck in Apocrypha."

Leif merely rolled his eyes.

Two hours later, they were in Winterhold, covered in snow when only five hours ago they were covered in ash. Leif broke into a sprint, sure-footed despite his armored feet and the slippery conditions, and cried out at the top of his lungs, " _Lydia! I'm home!_ "

Their house was down at the end of the thoroughfare on the right, close to the bridge that led to the College of Winterhold. When Liv had been made Thane of the Hold, she had asked Jarl Korir's permission to build a house where a few that had gotten destroyed in the Great Collapse still sat in ruins. He had agreed under the conditions that she pay for the plot and swear an oath to keep the College in line, seeing as how she had the authority and convenience of being its Arch-Mage. Liv had been reluctant to take that oath at first; the College was a mess after that incident with the Eye of Magnus, but she always put her Dragonborn duties above all else. In the end, however, she could not refuse Korir's terms. One of her biggest desires had always been to have her own home in Winterhold. Now she could only hope that none of the mages at the College had gotten out of control with their projects in her absence. The town was still standing, so that was a good sign.

" _Lydia!_ " Leif cried again, his voice carrying on the wind.

The door to the two-story house, which Liv had dubbed Winter Hall, flung open and out poured a tall, brown-haired Nord woman wearing steel armor and a sunny grin on her face. She all but leaped into Leif's waiting arms, their armored bodies clanking together, and proceeded to cover his face with noisy kisses.

Liv grinned at them.

Miraak, on the other hand, looked both appalled and disgusted by the public display of affection. There were some lines you just _didn't_ cross.

"It's an honor to see you again, my Thane!" Lydia greeted Liv over Leif's shoulder as he made off with her into the house, apparently not wanting to waste another second.

Liv followed, pausing on the inside of the opened doorway when she sensed the hesitation behind her. She turned slightly and made a rough gesture inside. "Well, don't just stand there. Come on. You're going to need a place to stay, aren't you? Unless you want to sleep in the snow?"

Miraak made a gruff noise and came up the steps. "I find it hard to believe that you would willingly open your home to me, unless this is another one of your tricks like the knife. Perhaps you only intend to open your _cellar_ to me?"

Liv couldn't help a grin. He was such a cynical bastard. "For the last time, it was only a _jest."_ And when that didn't convince him, she put up a hand in the universal pledging gesture."I solemnly swear on Akatosh's wings that there's no trick. There, satisfied?"

He was. Given her reverence for the Time Dragon, he didn't think she'd take that vow lightly. Still, he found it exceedingly strange that she was letting him into her house at all, never mind offering to allow him to stay. What was wrong with her? Did she have no sense at all?

"Very well," he said.

Liv shut the door behind him and clapped her hands together. "Well, uh..." Gods, this was weird, and stupid. Here she was _lodging_ the man who had tried to murder her not too long ago. She didn't know what else to do with him and she _did_ need to keep an eye on him, but that didn't make this idea any less stupid. "I suppose I should show you where everything is."

"If you insist," he replied with a bland tone.

Liv pointed across the dining hall, to a threshold at the back. "Kitchen's down there. Spare room is upstairs on the left. There's also—"

She was cut off then by a succession of thumping noises coming from the second floor, followed by a feminine, enraptured cry of " _Oh, Leif!_ "

 _Oh, Gods._ "—a washroom in case you want to, well, wash," Liv went on quickly, feeling heat creep up her neck as the suggestive sounds upstairs became louder. "And there's a library over there in case you get bored, and...where are you going?"

Miraak had turned away and was now halfway to the front door, moving at a suspiciously quick pace. "I refuse to stand here and tolerate those... _noises_."

"Don't be such a prude. It's a perfectly natural activity for two people in love, you know _._ " Still, it _was_ rather embarrassing, and gross in that hearing-your-parents-have-sex kind of way, except instead of her parents it was her brother.

Liv cringed. _**Stop**_ _. Ugh._

" _Oh, Gods! Harder!"_ came Lydia's voice again, followed by much louder thumps. " _Yes! Just like that!_ "

"Gah! Forget it!" Liv slapped her hands over her ears and fled for the door, deciding Miraak had the right idea. "The grand tour can wait!"

Perfectly natural or not, there were some things you just _didn't_ need to hear.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

* * *

 **As** Liv and company were arriving in Skyrim, Erasmis Marvani, the chief of a small band of Reavers, was waking up from a nightmare in which he had helplessly watched his lover Amaya get torn apart by a giant, bi-pedal fish-monster, before it chased he and his daughter all across Solstheim, chanting an all too familiar mantra in an all too familiar voice.

Erasmis jerked over on his side to ensure that they were still with him, fighting for a moment with the confines of his bedroll. His daughter Seyda was not there, and for a moment he panicked, his heart beating out a hard, quick rhythm, until he remembered she wasn't _supposed_ to be there. She was back at their hideout, being looked after by the others. Amaya was there, though, sitting cross-legged at the end of her bedroll, her back to him, stirring the embers of their campfire with a stick to keep it alive. Across the fire, he saw the sleeping forms of two of his fellow Reavers, Nevosi and Raven.

"It was only a dream," Amaya spoke quietly, somehow knowing he'd had a nightmare. Perhaps he had been talking in his sleep. "Try to rest some more, Ras. It will be dawn soon, and after all that has happened, you could use all the sleep you can get."

Erasmis sat up in his bedroll and tried to rub some life into his slack face. He wasn't sure he wanted to sleep anymore. " _You_ should get some sleep too. I can keep watch until morning."

Amaya looked back at him over a shoulder, her beautiful eyes glowing in the dark like two burning rubies. "I'm fine, my love. _Rest._ "

Erasmis sighed. He heard the stern, _I-know-what's-best-for-you_ tone and knew better than to argue. Amaya was as passionate a quarreler as she was a lover, and he almost always ended up doing what she said, mostly because she was almost always right. The others in their small band of Reavers liked to tease him about it occasionally, but it was all in good nature. _Just males being males_ , Amaya often said. However, there had been those who saw his respect and love for her as a weakness unfitting for a true leader. This had resulted in several attempts on his and Amaya's life, and once on his daughter's. Erasmis had eliminated most of these would-be assassins, but Amaya had damn near torn apart the fool who'd tried to murder his daughter while she slept. Although Seyda was not her flesh and blood, Amaya loved her as if she was. She often talked about scoring enough loot to retire from the banditry for good, get a place on Solstheim somewhere or maybe Cyrodiil, where they could raise Seyda together and give her a better, safer life. Erasmis had thought about it, as well. He hated that his daughter was exposed to this life; the dangers that came with it; the idea that he and Seyda could die and leave her alone in the world. There were those within his band that he could trust to look after her, but it wasn't the same. There was a special bond between child and parent that could not be replicated and an unquestionable certainty that he was the only one who could—and should—care for her.

Ah, but that old merciless bitch called Life had not given him any other choice but to resort to banditry. He had tried—Azura _help_ him, he had tried—more straight and narrow alternatives; a position in the Redoran Guard, mercenary work, hawking goods, even _farming_ , but they had either kept him away from his child too much or didn't pay enough to keep her properly fed and clothed. Reaving was an entirely different matter. One good score could feed and clothe her for months. He could even give her all the things she wanted, like books and toys and pretty ribbons for her hair. Sure, it was at the expense of others, but so what? They didn't have to hear her cry for the things she didn't have; they didn't have to watch her cheeks hollow out and her little body grow weak because she was starving; they didn't have to watch her suffer through illnesses because her clothes couldn't protect her from the cold. They didn't have to, but he did, and if he had to resort to stealing and murdering and pillaging to put an end to her suffering, so be it. It was no burden on his conscience. But while reaving provided his daughter with all the things that could keep her healthy and happy, it was still dangerous. Add to that the fact that the perils of Solstheim were as likely to find you as you were them..well, the chances of survival were pretty damn low, even for full grown adults who could wield weapons. Sometimes weapons weren't enough.

Erasmis hadn't realized that so much as he had four hours ago, when he'd woken up outside some temple, standing upright, a chisel in one hand and a hammer in the other, and with no idea how he'd gotten there or what he was doing. He hadn't been alone, either. There had been others; some of his fellow Reavers and a handful of Skaal, and all just as confused as he was.

It was Amaya who had told him what happened. Some kind of spell or curse had been cast on the sacred stones scattered around Solstheim. The Skaal called them the All-Maker Stones and believed their power was directly connected to the land. Apparently that was true because this curse had affected a lot of people on the island, turning them into mindless slaves, and he had been one of the afflicted. Amaya had gone looking for him and the others when they hadn't returned from a reaving, and found them there at the temple. When Erasmis had asked what he was doing there, she had said _you were building onto that temple, muttering nonsense. I tried to make you stop, I even knocked you out, but you woke up and went right back to work. Your eyes were...empty, like you weren't there inside your body anymore. Just a mindless shell._

Erasmis remembered little to nothing of the experience, only a voice chanting some mantra—the same voice and same mantra that had just been in his nightmare. It had been an eerie voice, deep as thunder and heavy with Nordic inflection, and it was old, not geriatric but as if it came from something ancient _._ Erasmis wasn't certain what had given him that idea—perhaps it was no more than a feeling—but Amaya had confirmed it, as much as it could be confirmed.

While he had been...incapacitated, she had gone around the island asking questions, trying to find out what in Oblivion was happening. For whatever reason, she and his daughter and some of their Reavers had been spared the curse. Amaya's search had only uncovered a name and a scrap of rumor, however—a man called Miraak, who had supposedly died thousands of years ago. She'd claimed that although many people seemed to have trouble recalling things, they could, for whatever reason, remember this name and that it was somehow connected to the sacred stones and the temple in the middle of the island, the one where he had been found. Amaya had also heard talk of a Dragonborn being on Solstheim, looking into the matter, but she hadn't been able to track this person down to ask what they might know.

Then, somehow, the curse had lifted. Amaya hadn't been entirely sure, but she suspected the Dragonborn had something to do with it. Perhaps—Erasmis didn't know much about Nord legends, but he knew the Dragonborn was supposed to be some kind of prophesied hero with extraordinary powers. If this hero had anything to do with lifting the curse, he hoped he or she had made this Miraak suffer for inflicting it on Solstheim in the first place. That piece of shit had stolen three months of his life. That may not have been much time for a long-living Dunmer like himself, but that wasn't the point. That was three months he had been away from his child, three months in which _anything_ could have happened to her because he wasn't there to protect her, three months where anything could have happened to _him_ while he was helpless, three months he would never get back. Erasmis would have liked very much to carve those three months out the bastard's hide with his katana, and _slowly_.

"Stop thinking, Ras," Amaya admonished from her spot near the fire. "Sleep."

With another sigh, Erasmis did as he was bid, lying back on his bedroll. There was no point thinking about those things. As much as he would have liked to get revenge, it was done and over with now. Best to move on.

"We should discuss this retirement business again," he said, by way of goodnight.

"Later," Amaya agreed.

Erasmis closed his eyes and there were no nightmares this time.

* * *

Amaya woke him and the others at dawn, and they packed up camp to head back to the cave they had been using as a hideout for a few years now, where Erasmis's daughter and the rest of their merry little band of misfits were waiting. Erasmis would have liked to already be there, but it had been Amaya's suggestion in the first place that they all rest up after being subjected to months of mindless labor and, as usual, he had known she was right. The bone-deep ache in his body and mind had been undeniable, and although four hours was hardly enough time to recuperate, he did feel a little bit better; the ache was still there, but duller now, and his mind wasn't as foggy, either.

"We should follow the shore up to the cave," Amaya suggested as she took Erasmis's pack from his hand. "It is the quicker, easier route, and we can hunt some horker on the way."

Erasmis didn't like the emphasis she put on 'easier', as if she thought he couldn't handle the tougher route, but he didn't comment on it. Even his pride was too tired to defend itself.

"No argument from me," Nevosi said, yawning into a fist. His face was drawn and there were dark bags hanging under his red eyes, but those eyes still held that gleam of good humor that made Nevosi Nevosi. Erasmis thought he would probably die in a good humor. "Although I may need help carrying my things too."

" _What_ things?" Amaya replied. "All you have is your bedroll and your bow and quiver of arrows. The latter two you _need_ , and I think you're quite capable of handling the former 'burden'."

"...But it's heavy."

Amaya waved a dismissive hand at him as she stepped out of their former camp, heading east through the copse of trees. Raven turned and followed without a word, his black robes swishing about his legs. He didn't tend to speak much, but he could sling a spell like nobody's business. He had taught himself Destruction magic and mastered it at a fairly young age, which was about the only thing Erasmis knew about him—what _anyone_ knew about him, really. Erasmis had once witnessed him take out an entire rival Reaver band with Fire Storm. He often wondered why Raven had chosen to use his talents for reaving. Surely he could have found better employment, perhaps with one of the Great Houses. Well, whatever. Their lose, his gain.

Erasmis started after the two and Nevosi kept stride beside him, bedroll tucked under an arm and bow slung across his back. Out of the corner of his eye, Erasmis could see him stealing glances at him, as if he had something to say but was perhaps waiting for the right moment or the permission, which was very unNevosi-like. He was a bit of a chatterbox, and almost never refrained from speaking his mind.

"Well?" Erasmis prompted. "Out with it."

"Uh..." Nevosi hesitated, rubbing at the back of his neck with his free hand. "It's just...are you truly considering hanging up your Reaver boots?"

Erasmis looked at him sharply, brows raised in surprise. So, he'd heard that, had he? "Were you eavesdropping on us?"

"Not...intentionally," Nevosi admitted. "I woke up while you two were talking. Didn't want to interrupt, though, so I just laid there."

"And _listened_?"

Nevosi shrugged and put out his hand in an _I-couldn't-help-it_ gesture. "What else was I supposed to do? I didn't want to go back to sleep. That-that _creepy_ voice...it's in my damn dreams now. So...is it true?"

Erasmis's cheeks puffed with a sigh. He was bound to find out sooner or later. "I'm considering it, yes. For my daughter. I think perhaps it's time." He pointed a finger at Nevosi. "But not one word of this to the others. I know how you are."

"Not a word, you have my word," Nevosi said with an inane grin.

"I mean it."

"I know, I know. I hope you'll reconsider, though. We won't be the same without you. If it wasn't for you talent of sniffing out good loot, we wouldn't be half as rich as we are."

Erasmis hummed. "If I could find a big enough score to claim, we could _all_ hang up our Reaver boots."

Nevosi huffed at that. "Not me! Reaving's in my blood. I'll still be pillaging when I'm an old mer walking with a cane."

Erasmis laughed. Somehow, he did not doubt that.

When they all finally reached the shore, they headed north. Their hideout was seven miles up the shoreline, stuffed inside a cliff face fairly close to Skaal Village. Most of the other Reaver bands on the island had made a habit of taking over the ruined forts and old Nord barrows and fanes, which was why most of them were dead now. Many had made the mistake of underestimating the undead that dwelt in those ancient tombs, and setting up inside such conspicuous places was more or less painting a target on your band's back, in any case, especially with the amount of hard-up adventurers there were looking to become wealthy heroes. Never mind the Reavers who preyed on their own. That was why Erasmis had chosen a cave out in the sticks. It didn't tend to draw attention, and even on the chance it did, there was only one way in or out, which Nevosi could set up his traps around and Raven could cast his powerful wards on. If anyone wandered into or tried to infiltrate their hideout, they likely wouldn't live long enough to regret it, and the band would have more than enough warning of their presence if they did. The close proximity to Skaal village also worked to their benefit. The Nords kept to themselves and seemed to have no idea the Reaver band had taken up residence nearby, so they never had any trouble from them. Erasmis had sent Nevosi to the village on several scouting missions in the past, and the Nords tended to leave their territory utterly undefended at night, which made pilfering their livestock and crops and the hunting kills they left outside overnight a cinch with Nevosi's Daedra-given talent for stealth. _I walk so light I don't even leave footprints in the snow,_ he often liked to exaggerate. He left footprints, but he knew how to make them disappear, and he knew how to manipulate them to fool any pursuers, although pursuers were rare. He had a knack for not getting caught. Nevosi was well-suited for banditry, perhaps better than the rest of them.

"Horkers," Amaya announced up ahead, pointing to the three, huge blubbery beasts, where they were huddled together on the shore near the tide line.

"I'll take care of them," Nevosi said as he readied his ebony bow. He nocked an arrow and loosed it before Amaya and Raven even had time to get out of the way. The projectile flew between them and embedded itself in the back of the nearest horker's head.

The other two beasts honked angry protests as they tried to waddle around to face this new threat, but they were much too slow for even a novice archer, let alone one as skilled as Nevosi. The two horkers were dead in seconds, arrows sticking out of their heads. Amaya hurried over to their corpses to begin the process of de-tusking them (horker tusks usually fetched a good price), while Nevosi joined her, using his dagger to cut off the good meat.

Erasmis moved to assist them, but paused when his foot kicked something laying in the sand. He looked down and saw it was a book, one that looked rather large and old. Erasmis bent over and picked it up, brushing bits of sand from the hard cover. It felt strange in his hands, the material covering it unlike anything he'd ever touched before, and he felt it hum, vibrate softly, as if it were alive. It was almost the same way an enchanted item felt—humming with the magic running through it—only this seemed darker. The book was also lighter than it appeared and there was an image of a tentacled monster carved into its surface. Erasmis knew that image; he'd seen it before but couldn't recall where. It had something to do with the Daedric Prince Hermaeus Mora, he knew that much.

"A Black Book," Raven breathed from beside him, startling him. Erasmis hadn't even heard him approach.

"What?"

Raven tapped the book with a finger. "This is a Black Book of Hermaeus Mora, the Daedric Lord of Knowledge."

Erasmis frowned, still staring at the tome. Unable to take his eyes from it. He'd heard of the Black Books before, but never imagined getting his hand on one, or this easily. "What in all Oblivion is it doing out here, laying on the ground like discarded rubbish?"

Raven shrugged. "Some believe you do not find Deadra artifacts. They find you. Perhaps this is what Hermaeus Mora wants."

Erasmis wasn't sure about that. He'd done nothing to grab the Daedric Lord's attention. Yet it also didn't make sense for such a powerful artifact to just be laying out here for any idiot to stumble upon, either. He turned the book over in his hands thoughtfully. "How much do you think it could fetch?"

"A couple of thousand, easily. Although, the knowledge it holds is likely worth more."

That could be true, but knowledge was ever subjective; some types of knowledge may be useful to some, but not to others. All Erasmis wanted to know was where to find some sizable loot so he could give his daughter a better life. Hermaeus Mora had all the knowledge in the universe, but was the knowledge Erasmis wanted in this book? Or was it in another? Was such trivial knowledge even worthy of being stuck in one of these Black Books? Erasmis didn't think so, but he couldn't be sure. Raven seemed to know more about it than he did.

"Do you know what's in it?" he asked. "What kind of knowledge this book might contain?"

Raven shook his head. "I've only _heard_ about these books, I've never read one. They're said to be portals into Apocrypha, Hermaeus Mora's realm. The knowledge of the books is, in reality, inside his realm, and one must pass a test in order to reach it. To be worthy of...knowing."

"I see..."

"What's going on?" Amaya asked as she and Nevosi joined them, her pack dripping blood and bulging with horker meat.

"I found this," Erasmis said, holding out the book for them both to see, "laying in the sand. One of Hermaeus Mora's Black Books."

"A Daedra artifact!" Nevosi chirped. "Hey, I bet we could make a killing if we sold it—"

"No," Erasmis cut him off. "I'm not going to sell it." He was thinking now that Raven might be right, that the knowledge may be worth more than the gold. There was not enough to steal on this island to give his daughter what she deserved. Not even the gold from selling the book would be enough. The knowledge he needed to give his daughter a better life could be inside this tome or it may not be. But wasn't it worth trying? Wasn't it worth trying for her? He already knew the answer to that; he had known the day she was born. It was always worth it, no matter the risk. "I'm going to read it."

Amaya jerked forward, alarmed. "What do you mean 'read it'? Why do you say it like that...like it's _dangerous_?"

"Because it is," Raven said, and then he explained to her exactly what Erasmis was holding in his hands, since it was clear she had no idea.

Afterward, Amaya frowned, folding her arms across her chest. "I'm not sure I like this. What do you expect to find in there, Ras?"

"A better life for Seyda."

"The Daedra give nothing for free, you know this," Amaya reminded him. "And their price is steep."

Erasmis met her eyes, his expression grave. "I don't care. There's no price I wouldn't pay."

Amaya's face was hard, but her eyes were sad, glistening. "Even death? Would you pay with your life?"

"That's not going to happen."

"You don't know that!" Amaya shouted at him, balling her hands into fists. "You don't know what's there, what test you'll face! _You don't know_!"

Erasmis grabbed the front of her leather armor and jerked her to him, letting go a moment later to cup her face. "I know I'm not going to die because I know what I'm living for, what I'm fighting for. Seyda, you..." He leaned in, kissed her gently on the mouth, pulled back. "I have to do this."

"Why must you be so damn stubborn?" Amaya pouted.

Erasmis laughed at that, pushing his forehead playfully against hers. "Because I love you."

"If you must do this, then I'm coming with you. We all are." Amaya leaned back to give the other two her hard, _you-better-not-argue-with-me_ look. " _Right_?"

Nevosi grinned his inane grin. "A trip to Oblivion? I wouldn't miss it for the world!"

But Raven was shaking his head. "I don't think we will be able to. I've never heard of more than one person going through these books at a time."

"Only one way to find out," Nevosi said. "I'm ready when you lot are."

They all gathered around Erasmis. He looked at each of them to make sure they were prepared, and they were. He was met with confident, determined looks; unquestionable loyalty. Erasmis wondered what he had done to earn such friends, and then he opened the Book.

He was not prepared for what proceeded— _never_ could have been prepared, really.

Erasmis read half of the first sentence printed on the first page, and then the rest of the words began to bleed together in a black pool that spread across the page like spilled ink. The black soon began to fade and Erasmis found himself looking into another realm, one with a greenish-yellow sky, a sea of oily black, towers upon towers of huge books, and dozens of spinning page-cyclones. It felt as if he had been looking at this bizarre realm for seconds and ages and no time at all. Erasmis wanted to ask the others if they were seeing what he was seeing, but the words were trapped behind his tongue. He was both mesmerized and startled. And then he saw the tentacles rising from the sea of black up toward the page and became afraid. Erasmis gasped and dropped the book on the sand as the tentacles emerged from page, flailing and thrashing like angry snakes. One wrapped around his ankle and squeezed, and Erasmis reflexively drew his katana. Another tentacle lashed out, striking his sword hand hard enough to disarm him. The weapon flew off to the side and thumped down on the ground out of reach.

The others weren't reacting, staring up at something, their eyes wide. Erasmis followed their gazes and made a choked sound of surprise. Hovering ten or fifteen feet above the book was a black, nebulous mass of tentacles and eyes. The central one was huge with a pupil shaped like an hour glass, and it blinked at him curiously, disregarding the others.

" _Ah, yes, I have been waiting for you,_ " the Eye said. The voice that came from it was deep and resonate, and lackadaisical, as if it were in no real hurry to speak.

"Uh, you have?" Erasmis replied dumbly. He didn't know what else to say. He hadn't realized he'd been...expected.

" _Indeed. Did you think it was merely coincidence that you happened to stumble upon one of my Black Books_?"

"I did, actually."

" _No, Erasmis. It was...fate._ "

 _It knows my name_ , Erasmis thought dazedly. Well, of course it did. "You're...you're Hermaeus Mora?"

" _Yes, the Prince of Knowledge and Fate_." The Eye blinked slowly. " _And it is knowledge that you seek, is it not? Forbidden knowledge, no...but I can grant you what you wish to know, Erasmis, the knowledge you require to give your progeny a better life. In return you will pledge yourself in service to me, as all seekers of knowledge are my servants._ "

Erasmis thought of his daughter—her starved, hollow cheeks, her tears, her suffering—and went down on one knee before the hovering Eye. "I pledge my service to you, Hermaeus Mora. Whatever you wish from me, it will be done."

The Eye looked pleased—as much as giant eye could look pleased, anyway. " _Good. I have a task for you. Succeed and your progeny will never want for anything_."

"What do you need me to do?"

" _You, Erasmis, will act as my instrument of vengeance. You will bring to justice the ones who_ _ **dared**_ _to deceive me..."_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

* * *

 **In** the brief time they'd spent inside the house, the snowstorm over Winterhold had picked up strength. A seemingly endless quilt of smoky, puffy clouds rippled across the night sky, obscuring the moons and stars and generating a rich abundance of plump snowflakes. The wind, brisk and coming in from the north, swept the falling flakes up into a frenzied dance as it moaned an orotund song among the town's scant structures. The storm had dropped a three-inch blanket of white over what had already existed on the ground, and it didn't look like it was going to let up any time soon; it seemed to have only just begun, in fact. Liv suspected there would be at least a foot accumulation by the time the storm moved on.

Not that she minded it. After being subjected to the oppressive ashfall on Solstheim for a little over a month, the wintry conditions felt invigorating and purifying, and homey. Although she had been born and raised in the south-central region of Skyrim, where it was warmer and snow rarely fell even in the depth of winter, the perpetually arctic north had always called to her, like a mother beckoning her child to the comfort of her bosom.

"Do you intend to loiter here all night?"

Liv almost jumped at that voice as it jarred her loose from this rare occasion of warm thoughts. In her musing, she had forgotten she was not alone.

The Last Dragonborn turned her head toward the First, where he stood at the bottom of Winter Hall's porch steps, shoulders back, bearded chin tilted slightly up, and hands fixed behind him; a pose he seemed comfortable in, and one that made him look kind of regal, but in a vainglorious way. Liv wondered how much of that arrogant wind might be taken out of his sails if he could only see that wound her brother had given his face. It wasn't pretty. What had started out as a puffy, many-colored gash riding his left cheekbone had grown into a fairly large, swollen knot of a ghastly shade of purple. The ugly color had also spread up under his eye, lending the full contusion the rather amusing shape of Elsweyr turned on its side.

"Not _all_ night, no," Liv answered, smirking to herself, as she lifted her face to the sky. "Why, is there somewhere else you have to be?"

"Very amusing, Dragonborn," Miraak said, unsmiling. "I would simply prefer to engage in something more productive than standing around."

"I'm not standing around. I'm taking a moment to appreciate the small things." Liv spread her arms wide, raising her hands toward the sky like a priestess calling upon the gods. "This fine weather, for example, and the simple fact of being home. I highly recommend it. It's good for the soul...and Akatosh knows _yours_ could use some goodness."

Liv was aware that she probably shouldn't be trying to nettle him so much—ruffling his feathers on a regular basis certainly wasn't going to improve the situation, after all—but she couldn't seem to help it either, as if it were some kind of natural subconscious action, like breathing or blinking.

Miraak said nothing, his face a perfect mask of indifference.

Liv felt oddly disappointed by the lack of response, but shrugged it off. "Well, it was just a suggestion. Anyway, it seems we have some time to kill—I'm guessing an hour, give or take." It was a generic estimation as she really didn't want to commit any further thought to how long it might take her sibling to have relations with his wife. She had been grossed out enough for one day, thank you. "So, uh, how do you feel about killing that hour at the inn?"

Miraak said nothing, was not even bothering to look at her now. His gaze was instead focused up on the rugged, snow-clad wall of mountain that loomed over the town. Liv took _this_ lack of response to mean he was either intentionally ignoring her or he didn't have any particularly strong opinions about inns. Either way...

"The inn it is, then."

It was a short stroll up the thoroughfare to the Frozen Hearth Inn, a fairly large wood-and-stone structure sat off to the left, close to the approach into town and across from the jarl's longhouse. A town guard stood sentry outside the latter building while two others patrolled the thoroughfare. Together, they were what passed for Winterhold's defense, if one discounted the residents, some of whom were surprisingly capable in a fight. They may not have seemed like much, but they had fended off a handful of bandit raids and a few bear attacks, had aided in ridding the town of some magic anomalies and a dragon or two (with Liv's help, of course), and with the merciless savagery of a wolf pack protecting their young. No one could ever question their mettle or loyalty.

Liv pushed open the door to the inn, a ghostly swirl of snow twisting past her legs to lead the way in. As with most inns across Skyrim, a fire blazed in a large stone pit at the center of the room, suffusing the air with pleasant warmth and the rich, earthy smell of wood smoke. The quiet popping and crackling of the fire mingled cozily with the low moan of the wind blowing under the eaves. At this late, late hour, the only souls about were Dagur the innkeeper and Ranmir the local tosspot, the latter having passed out face down at his regular table, hand still wrapped around his (probably empty) tankard. Dagur stood behind the counter, cleaning beverage holders with a rag. He paused to look up at the two arrivals, and raised the grimy piece of cloth in a gesture of greeting.

"Pleasure to see you again, Arch-Mage," he said, offering a polite if not tired smile. Liv couldn't recall a time she _hadn't_ seen him behind the bar; it was almost as if the man never slept. "Heard you'd taken off to Solstheim some time ago. You just get back?"

"Aye," Liv replied, stamping snow from the soles of her boots. She was then bumped aside by Miraak without so much as a _beg your pardon_. Liv huffed indignantly at his blatant rudeness. "Excuse you."

Miraak paid her no mind as he tracked further into the room, leaving rapidly melting clumps of snow in his wake. His gaze swept carefully around the inn, as if to commit every detail of it to memory.

Liv wondered if this was the first time he'd ever been inside one, wondered if inns even existed in his day. Then she sauntered up to the counter to speak with the innkeeper. "So, Dagur, any trouble from the College in my absence?"

"You would've heard it from the Jarl by now if there was," Dagur snorted. "It's been quiet, thank the Gods."

Liv breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn't been looking forward to the possibility of dealing with an angry Jarl Korir. He was enough of a pain in the arse about the College on a normal day. "Good. So, what's been going on in Skyrim? Besides the war, that is. Anything of interest?" She had only been gone a month or so, but experience had taught her that a lot could happen in a month.

Dagur put his rag and tankard down and leaned forward on the counter. "Funny you should ask. I heard word of something going on in Dawnstar just the other day. Entire population has gone missing."

 _But of course_ , Liv thought, unsurprised. When something did happen, it was usually shit like this— _bad_ shit. Of course it wouldn't interest her half as much if it was good shit. Sad to say, but true. She attracted and was attracted to trouble like a butterfly to a flower. There was something so wonderfully fulfilling about tackling problems and solving them, a warm feeling that went straight back to her childhood, when her father would often surprise her with riddles or puzzles he made up to challenge her. Perhaps it was also engrained in her, as part of her Dragonborn heritage; dragons did enjoy challenges, after all.

"The _entire_ population? When? How?"

Dagur put up a hand, palm facing outward— _hold your horses_. "Now, I don't know if that's true or not. The source wasn't exactly reliable. Heard it from a peddler who came through, but he was into his fifth tankard of ale at the time. Well, he seemed a bit off his head even before he'd gotten drunk. Raving about arriving in Dawnstar to do some trading only to find everyone gone, and was chased from the town and halfway down the shore to Winterhold by a metal spider—one of those Dwemer constructs, he said." Dagur laughed at this, clearly finding it absurd, and then added: "I'm no expert, but I've heard those things can't leave the Dwemer ruins, like their bound to them or something."

Liv frowned. She'd heard much the same thing, and had explored enough Dwemer ruins to know it to be mostly true, but she also knew of a staff capable of conjuring Dwarven Spheres outside the ruins, and sometimes random pieces of construct parts and the occasional Spider. She owned it, however; it was secured in her 'collection' room at home, which consisted of a wide variety of artifacts and items of interest she had accumulated from her many adventures. She had constructed the staff using the Dwemer's recently discovered Aetherium Forge, so as far as she knew it was the only one that existed. It _might_ be possible there was another that could conjure up Spiders, although Liv failed to see what it had to do with people going missing in Dawnstar.

"When did this happen?" she asked.

" _If_ it happened, it was about a day and a half ago. Personally, I don't believe it. The man acted like he was on skooma when he came in; pale, bloodshot eyes, jittery, rambling."

Most of what Dagur described of the man's behavior was also symptoms of terror, Liv noted; she'd seen more than enough of it to know. "Any idea where he went from here?" She thought it would be prudent to find the man and question him herself. If what the peddler had said was true, evil undoubtedly had a hand in it. Entire town populations didn't vanish for a _good_ reason.

"'Fraid not," Dagur said. "He didn't say, and he was gone by morning. Seemed to be in a hurry to leave." He laughed again. "Maybe he thought that spider was coming for him."

Damn. That was not what Liv wanted to hear. Still, there were only two possible ways of leaving Winterhold; the passage west, where the man had originally come from, and the passage east, which rounded the eastern base of Mount Anthor and went south toward Windhelm. If the man had been terrified, Liv figured he wouldn't have left using the west passage, toward Dawnstar and the _source_ of his fear. That left the passage to Windhelm. Perhaps he had stopped there and told someone what he'd seen. Liv made a mental note to check in at Candlehearth Hall when she delivered her gift to Ambarys later today. A trip to the Palace of the Kings might also be in order, although Liv hoped it wouldn't come to that. Dawnstar was Stormcloak territory, so if anyone was going to have information about what was happening there it would be the Stormcloak himself—through his dispatched soldiers and couriers, if not the peddler. Problem was Liv got along better with Miraak than she did the Jarl of Windhelm, and that was saying a _lot_.

"What did this peddler look like?" Liv asked.

Dagur scratched his naked chin, gaze flickering thoughtfully up toward the ceiling. "Let's see, uh...he was definitely Imperial. Dark, short hair. Brown eyes. Clean-shaven. Average height and build."

Liv made a face. He had just described every Imperial she had ever met. "Any distinguishing features? Scars? Birthmark? Maybe he walked with a limp or had a lazy eye?"

"Had a scar on his chin and his nose was bent, like it'd been broken before." He shrugged. "That's all I remember, I'm afraid."

It wasn't much, but it was something to work with. She hoped her brother finished up soon so they could look into this. There was always a chance that Dagur was right and the peddler was just a skooma-eater who hallucinated the whole thing, but she didn't think so. Her Dragonborn senses were tingling.

"Okay. I appreciate the information, Dagur."

"Always glad to be of help. Anything else I can get for you?"

Liv looked over her shoulder at Miraak, who had been watching the exchange and must've found it uninteresting, if the bored look on his face was any indication. "Would you care for anything?"

The man narrowed his eyes at the question, as if it warranted suspicion, then answered with an emphatic " _No_."

Liv shrugged and turned back to the innkeeper. Well, she had tried, at least. "I'll have a bottle of mead and an apple tart with a small wedge of goat cheese, if you have it." She had been dying for an apple tart since leaving Solstheim. That and Roggi's spiced mead, but the mead would have to wait until she found the time to visit Kynesgrove.

"The tart'll be cold," Dagur warned.

"As long as it's not a week old."

As the innkeeper disappeared down into his cellar, presumably to get the tart and cheese, Liv rummaged through one of her knapsacks and produced a small pouch of gold, putting it down on the counter—enough to pay for the order plus a generous 'tip', as per the usual transaction. Dagur looked on it as charity, which his proud Nord sensibilities frowned upon, but the inn got very little business and his pride sure as Oblivion wasn't going to pay the absurdly high taxes when they were due. Skyrim was in the midst of a civil war, and wars were expensive whether you supported the Empire or the Stormcloaks or neither one, and it was the common folk who had to pay for them, in more ways than one. Like it or not, he knew he needed the extra coin, and Liv was more than happy to give it.

Dagur returned a moment later with her apple tart and wedge of cheese on a wooden plate, sitting it before her on the counter. Then he produced a bottle of mead from a bottom shelf and collected the pouch of septims, frowning but otherwise not commenting on them. "Oh, I almost forgot. A courier came by looking for you this afternoon—well, yesterday afternoon, now."

"Did he leave the message?"

Dagur shook his head. "Refused to, said he was told to deliver it to your hands and your hands only. Sounds important. He'll be coming by your place again in the morning."

"Right. Thanks for informing me."

"Aye."

Liv gathered up her mead and tart, and took them off to a table near the fire pit. After unburdening herself of her knapsacks, she took a seat on the bench, peeled off her gloves, and took notice of Miraak just standing there, as if he didn't know what to do with himself or perhaps he was reluctant to join her. She would've bet all her septims on the latter.

"You look rather awkward just standing there like that," Liv remarked, then gestured to the empty space on the bench. "Sit, if you like. I don't bite." She bared her teeth in a teasing grin. "Much."

Miraak grimaced at this latest attempt at japery, then turned to face the fire pit. "No."

"Suit yourself."

Liv faced the table, picked up the knife sitting there, and set about cutting off thin slices of cheese onto her tart. That done, she put a hand over it and summoned just enough flame to warm the tart and melt the cheese over it just the way she liked. The first bite tasted like heaven; the tart was still fresh, probably made just yesterday, and a perfect combination of salty and sweet. Liv hadn't had her favorite treat in a month at least and Solstheim had offered little in the way of good food (the Dunmer idea of culinary delight involved insects, plump ones and the more legs the better, cooked in a variety of different ways), so she savored it, the simple pleasure of its taste, and the fact that it didn't have ash or mashed up beetle in it.

Afterward, she washed it down with a few mouthfuls of mead, then turned around on the bench so she was facing Miraak—or his back, anyway—and decided to make an attempt at conversation to pass the time. She liked to talk; some said too much, but what did they know? Besides, she was curious about some things—okay, a _lot_ of things. "Hey, Tall, Dark, and Arrogant. I have a question for you."

"Address me properly and perhaps I shall provide an answer," he said without turning.

Liv was tempted call him 'Voiceless' again instead, but winding him up was not going to satisfy her curiosity. She supposed it was safe enough to use his name here; she doubted anyone in Skyrim knew about him, and Dagur had gone back down into the cellar and Ranmir was still unconscious, so they were the only ones around in any case. "Fair enough. So, _Miraak_ —I'm curious to know when you first learned you were Dragonborn. I mean, none existed before you, so how could you even _know_?"

The man didn't respond.

Liv waited a moment or two—perhaps he was preparing his answer—but the silence stretched on and it became clear he _wasn't_ going to answer. "Really? Whatever. I guess I shouldn't be surprised you're going back on your word, considering."

Miraak looked over a shoulder at her. He wore no expression, but the tone with which he spoke was ripe with smugness. "I said _perhaps_ I shall provide an answer, I did not say I _would._ You should pay closer attention to one's words, Dragonborn."

 _Loathsome shithead_ , Liv thought, wanting very much to Shout him into that fire pit. He was standing close enough to it that all it would take was one Word of Unrelenting Force—just a little jostle and into the flames he would go. But alas, Akatosh might not like it if she intentionally caused him to be burned alive, so Liv had to settle with an insult. "You know, you may not have been good at being Dragonborn, but you certainly _excel_ at being a complete dick. Would it really kill you to act—oh, I don't know— _decent_ for a change?"

Miraak's indifferent visage darkened with anger and contempt. "If you expect any decency from me after you set me up to lose my power, destroyed all I have worked toward, you are a bigger fool than I thought. You deserve far worse than I am presently at power to administer."

Liv laughed without mirth. Okay, fine—if he wanted to go down this road again, so be it. Sooner or later, he was going to have to acknowledge the bitter reality of his life, and Liv was more than happy to shove that reality in his face. She was fed up with his juvenile finger-pointing.

"I'm confused. You blame me for your misfortune, yet you claim you forged your own path, commanded your own fate. So, explain that to me—how in Oblivion did _I_ destroy everything if _you're_ the one who's been controlling it all?"

Miraak swiveled around to face this challenge directly, eyes narrowed, mouth tight, arms folding at his chest. "I know what you are trying to do; you're not as subtle as you think. Twist my words however you wish, the fact remains: _you_ meddled where you had no place meddling, _you_ interfered with me, _you_ chose to do Akatosh's bidding, _you_ are at fault."

Liv noted the body language; confrontational, aye, but also defensive, and she had only just begun. "And I take full responsibility for interfering and serving as Akatosh's instrument of punishment and mercy. But I'm not responsible for your choices or actions, Miraak. If you hadn't chosen to serve Hermaeus Mora in exchange for power, you never would've ended up in Apocrypha in the first place, and I never would've intervened for Akatosh. It's as simple as that."

Oh, boy, did _that_ strike a nerve.

Miraak was on her in a heartbeat, snatching the front of her robe with both hands and hauling her up from her seat. The abrupt manhandling made Liv lose her grip on her bottled beverage. It crashed to the floor in a small explosion of shattered glass and a splash of amber liquid.

Liv raged at the loss; she'd been waiting a long time for that drink! "My _mead_ , you halfwit, inbred son of a mudcrab! You made me drop my—"

The complaint ended in a small gasp as the man yanked her within uncomfortably close proximity of him. Liv had no other place to look but into a pair of slit-pupil eyes that were no longer turquoise but an eerie, blazing green. She forgot about the wasted mead, wondering now if he knew how much he had just revealed without saying a single word. He claimed he had no regrets, but this reaction to her comment, the _anger_ , proved otherwise; if what she had said was wrong, then he had no reason to be angry, did he?

"You think yourself so enlightened, that you have it all figured out," Miraak growled at her, his hands tightening around the fabric of her robe. "Yet you have foolishly overlooked the fact that you would not _exist_ if it were not for my choices. You should be _thanking_ me, you ignorant, sanctimonious bitch!"

Actually, she hadn't overlooked that possibility. Liv had considered it and its hilarious irony many times; as amusing and ironic as Alduin inadvertently saving her life in Helgen when her neck was literally on the chopping block, only for her to be the one meant to destroy him. Liv was beginning to see why Akatosh saw so much of His firstborn in the First Dragonborn; the two had _so_ much in common.

"If anyone is overlooking anything, Miraak, it's you. If your choices gave rise to my existence and if I'm to blame for all that's befallen you, then you created your own destruction. Just as Alduin did, when he decided in his arrogance that his birth and power gave him the right to godhood. He chose to rebel against Akatosh, and Akatosh made the Dragonborn to remind him of his place. If you're the commander of your own fate, then you're the maker of your own destruction, such as it is."

The man recoiled as if her words were a blow. Liv felt his anger and confusion, the dismay and denial, and wondered, not for the first time, why she could, why she seemingly _must—_ it was becoming rather inconvenient and annoying. Then most of those feelings were gone, all but the anger and denial, as if a wall had come down somewhere inside him. And was she surprised? No, because, dragon soul or not, he was still as mortal as the next guy, and the only defense mortals had against the terrible things they did not want to accept was to not accept them, to deny them with a furious vengeance.

The silence raged on. Miraak stared at her with such intensity Liv began to wonder if he might try to throttle her and she might have to Shout him into the fire pit after all. At the same time, she was becoming painfully aware of their closeness again.

"This is getting awkward now," Liv said. "And you're wrinkling my robe." She emphasized this by looking pointedly downward, where his hands still had a good grip on said article.

Miraak made an angry noise and shoved her away. Liv stumbled backward but was saved an embarrassing fall by the bench, the back of her legs bumping into it and causing her to plop down on her former seat. The fuming man aimed a forefinger at her face and said, as forcefully as he had shoved her, " _You are wrong_."

"Then why are you so angry?" Liv dared, but gently. Not for the first time (although she hoped it was the last), she felt kind of bad for him. Why was that? Why did she feel sorry for him when she had never felt sorry for Alduin or Harkon or any of the other numerous evils she'd fought and defeated? Perhaps it was simply because he was Dragonborn, like her; he was an example of how it could have all gone horribly wrong for her if she had succumbed to the lure of power. Perhaps it was not him at all, but only that version of her that she truly felt sorry for. Or maybe she felt sorry for the him that should have been but never was, the hero that would lift Alduin's shadow from the world.

"Whether you want to accept it or not, you made the wrong choices and you're paying for them—we all do, eventually," Liv went on. "But maybe you should start considering that you might be _better_ than those choices, Miraak; I don't think you would be here if you weren't."

Miraak scoffed at this with contempt and disgust, but Liv sensed his uneasiness at her words. He turned away, putting his back to her. "This conversation is _over_ , and you would do well to never bring it up again."

"As you wish," Liv said, giving in. For now. She supposed she'd overloaded his psyche enough for one day, but they _would_ speak of it again. She would make sure of that.

* * *

They returned to Winter Hall an hour later, finding it blessedly silent of obscene noises. Liv dropped her knapsacks by the front door and called out loudly, "Leif! Are you two done making babies yet!? I think I've—oh, there you are."

Leif appeared in the threshold that connected the main hall to the entryway, bedecked in his dragon bone armor _sans_ helmet (Leif never wore a helmet, even in battle, believing that true warriors faced their opponents with utmost honesty, not hiding behind an iron mask) and looking displeased.

"I was just coming to look for you," he said, his eyes darting back and forth between the two Dragonborn, then lingering distrustfully on the male. "Where were you two?" It wasn't a curious question but rather a demand to know laced with suspicion.

Miraak, who wasn't in the mood for any shit, opened his mouth to inflict a verbal thrashing upon Leif, but Liv spoke before he could get a single word out. As if causing him to lose his Voice was not enough for her.

"Over at the Frozen Hearth. We decided we didn't want to stick around and listen to the repulsive sounds of your lovemaking."

Leif's face turned rosy at the mention of that. He hadn't realized he and Lydia were making that much noise. "Oh. You could've at least said something."

"I didn't want to _interrupt_."

"Right," he said, swiftly moving along. "So, what were you doing at the inn?"

Liv raised a brow at the question. "Oh, you know—drinking up all the mead, trading dragonborn stories, plotting to take over the world, that sort of thing." She grinned cheekily.

Leif was far from amused, judging by the frown that came upon his face, deepening the lines on his forehead and around his mouth.

He wasn't the only one displeased, either. Behind him, in the main hall, Liv saw Lydia standing there with her arms folded at her chest, scowling.

"So, it's true," the woman said, almost accusingly. "Leif told me you freed that… _monster_ instead of killing him, but I didn't want to believe it." She stepped forward to stand beside Leif, her eyes moving over Miraak, sizing him up. Her lips curled with disgust. "Doesn't look like much of a Dragonborn to me."

"Careful," Miraak bristled. "Or the next time you speak may be the last time you speak."

Liv caught the look of fury on her brother's face and grabbed his arm before he decided to lunge for the other man. "Alright, that's enough. Lydia, don't provoke the houseguests—"

" _Houseguest_?" Lydia interjected, appalled.

"Temporarily." Though Liv was certain that brought little comfort to Lydia. "And don't threaten my housecarl, Miraak."

"Hrmph. Your housecarl is far too insolent and outspoken for one of her servile station. You should teach her to know her place, Dragonborn."

" _Excuse me_?" Lydia snapped. "Who do you think you are, you uppity bastard?!"

"You don't speak about my wife like that," Leif added as he shook Liv off and took a belligerent step toward the man to get in his face, or as close to his face as he could. Leif stood at an even six feet, but he still had to look up at Miraak, who had a good four inches on him.

"I said _enough!_ " Liv shouted, wedging herself between both men. "By Akatosh, it's like I'm dealing with a pack of _children_!" She put hands against her brother's armored chest and pushed. "Come on, into the main hall. Let it go. There's something we need to talk about."

"What now?" Leif groused, but allowed himself to be led away.

Liv didn't answer until she had both Leif and Lydia in the main hall. She glanced back over a shoulder. Miraak stood in the threshold, hands clasped behind his back, wearing a blank look that would have fooled anyone else, but Liv sensed that he was pleased with himself.

Liv narrowed her eyes. _Arsehole._

" _Well?_ " Leif prompted.

Liv turned her attention back to her sibling and plopped down in a chair at the dining table. She grinned and said with a cheery tone, hoping to ease the tension some: "I learned some interesting news from Dagur at the inn. Guess!"

"Trouble? That's about the only thing you ever consider 'interesting'."

"Winner, winner, venison dinner!" Liv crowed. "I think we should look into it."

"What happened to you wanting a day of normalcy?"

Good question. Looking back on that now, Liv supposed planning a day of normalcy had been as pointless and silly as getting married and hoping for children some day. Dragonborn simply couldn't lead normal lives; it wasn't in their nature and the world wouldn't let them. "Evil doesn't take breaks. Neither should I."

"Should've figured that wouldn't last long," her brother muttered. "So, what is it this time? More dragons? Necromancers desecrating the dead again? Another bandit den that needs clearing out? _Vampires_?"

"Probably not that bad or it could be potentially worse," Liv said, and then explained about the peddler and what he'd allegedly experienced, a tale that took no more than a few minutes.

Afterward, Leif frowned. "This guy sounds like he's off his nut. When's the last time you saw one of those Dwemer constructs _outside_ of the ruins, let alone in working order?"

"Remember that staff I made on the Aetherium Forge, the one that summons Spheres?" Liv reminded him.

"You mean the one you keep locked up in your hoard room? The only one of its kind?"

" _Collection_ room," Liv corrected. "And it may be the only one that we _know_ of. There could be another that summons Spiders. Improbable maybe, but not impossible."

Leif grunted, waving that off. "I don't see what any of this has to do with people going missing."

"Neither do I, honestly, but until we know for sure what's going on, we shouldn't take _any_ possibility off the table."

"Well, if you really believe this man's story, that it's worth looking into, we should probably start in Windhelm, first," Leif suggested.

Liv nodded. "That's what I was thinking too. I figure he went south after he left the Frozen Hearth, probably too afraid to go back toward Dawnstar."

"It's possible, but Dawnstar is also Stormcloak territory. If something's going on there—"

"Ulfric will probably know about it," Liv finished for him, frowning. "Aye, I know. Although I don't know how much help he'll be...you know, since he hates my guts."

Leif looked upon her with tight disapproval, like a father about to lecture an unruly child. "He's not that petty, Liv. And he _wouldn't_ hate your guts if you didn't frequently and openly disrespect him in front of his whole court."

Liv put her hands out in a gesture of helplessness. "It's not _my_ fault he's an obnoxious, egomaniacal arse who thinks everyone is beneath him and everything he does is above reproach. He needs to be taken down a notch."

"He's quite handsome, though," Lydia put in, grinning, as she knelt down in front of the hearth to feed more wood into the fire.

Leif gave his eyes a halfhearted roll, but otherwise said nothing. He supposed he could let her off the hook for that since she didn't melt into a swooning puddle of infatuation at the mere mention of the Jarl of Windhelm, like some of the other women he'd been with. And she had never called out his name during sex either, unlike a certain apprentice blacksmith in Windhelm that Leif had fooled around with once. That kind of thing wasn't good for the ol' self-esteem.

"Aye, I'll give you that," Liv allowed. "But he's still obnoxious."

"Regardless of what you think of him," Leif said. "He's the Jarl and he may very well become High King, so you need to start making nice."

Miraak, who had been quietly listening to the exchange, seized upon this opportunity to pit the siblings against each other. Although…he'd be lying if he said the suggestion didn't irk him deep down inside where his dragon soul lived. Even he could admit bootlicking was beneath her; it was beneath _any_ Dragonborn. "She is _Dragonborn_ , and you would have her lower herself to kissing this man's arse? Do you truly have so little respect for her?"

Leif whirled on him and snapped, " _You_ keep out of this!"

"He has a point," Liv said, frowning. How dare he even propose such a thing; Leif should know her better than that.

The elder Night-Born jerked his head back in her direction, staring in utter disbelief. " _What?_ You can't be serious!"

Liv's face hardened. "Whether you farm the land or rule it, respect is _earned_. I'm not going to 'make nice' with anyone simply because they sit a throne. I have more respect for myself than that, and I thought you did too. Have I not earned it, brother?"

Inwardly, Miraak was grinning in triumph. Outwardly, he kept a neutral expression. It was a small victory, but he would take it.

Leif shot him a look of cold warning. Then he strode up to his sister, peering down at her with grim concern. "You've warned it a thousand times over. I respect you more than anyone else, Liv. Even Ulfric. You _know_ that. But sometimes you have to swallow your damn pride and accept things for what they are. You are the Dragonborn, but that ain't a title of authority anymore—"

" _Power_ is authority," Miraak cut in. "And she is the second-most powerful Dragonborn in all of history." He looked over at the woman, fixing her with a meaningful stare. "Why should she bow to anyone, when she can easily make the world bow to her?"

Liv laughed at that absurdity, while her brother sputtered in outrage. "Bite your tongue!"

"That's enough," Leif grumbled, wanting nothing more than to put an end to this whole discourse. It made him uneasy, wary. Liv may not have initially taken it serious, but she was a dragon. The will to dominate was part of her nature and she had been tempted by such ideas before. No doubt it had been Miraak's intention to do exactly that, the fucking manipulative bastard. "If we're going to Windhelm, we had best leave now. Give ourselves some extra time in case you get sidetracked by plants and ore again."

"Ha-ha," Liv said as she pushed herself up from the chair. "Probably a good idea, though. I do have an errand to run, first. Shall we?"

* * *

Liv didn't get sidetracked on their way down to Windhelm, but she did sing songs throughout half the trip, much to Leif's and Miraak's annoyance. Seeing as how _they_ refused to talk, she'd had to fill the silence somehow. She didn't mind quiet in small amounts, but long stretches of it made her restless and uneasy. Silence made her think, and rarely were those thoughts good. So she kept them at bay with song or conversation; sometimes she even talked or sang to herself when she was alone.

At about the halfway mark, the snowstorm had finally moved on and morning rose over Mount Anthor, turning the thin cloud cover still blanketing the sky the hard silvery color of Skyforge steel. As Liv had suspected, there was at least a foot of fresh powder on the ground, which might have slowed down their progress had she not periodically melted the snow in their path with mage fire.

Not long after the towering stone walls of Windhelm came into view, Liv paused in her slaughtered rendition of _The Dragonborn Comes_ , spotting a man ahead on the path; a Breton, judging by his short stature and rangy physique, lumbering toward them through the snow. And apparently he knew her.

"Dragonborn!" the man called out, waving a hand in the air. "I've been looking for you!"

A moment of snow-trudging later, he was standing before her, his face red from the cold and exertion, his panting breaths fogging in the cold air. He looked like he was barely into adulthood, pimply and clean-shaven, his dark hair cropped close to his skull. He wore close-fitted traveling clothes and a worn leather belt with a pouch and several scroll cases attached to it. Liv made him as a courier, and suddenly remembered she was supposed to be expecting one, or so Dagur at the inn had said. She'd forgotten about that.

"Something you need?" she asked. At her left, Leif had his hand on the grip of his greatsword, ever the cautious one. At her right, Miraak was much more relaxed, staring down at the shorter man as if he were an insect unworthy of standing in his presence.

"You're hard to track down," the Breton stated as he uncapped one of the scroll cases on his belt and pulled out a rolled up bit of parchment. He held it out to her. "I have this missive for you, from the Jarl."

Liv took it and the courier made to leave. "Hold on," she halted him, digging through her knapsack. She pulled out a small pouch of gold and pitched it to him. "For your troubles."

The Breton caught it on the fly and grinned. "Thanks!" And then he was on his way, quick-slogging back the way he'd come.

Liv turned the rolled parchment around until the wax seal came into view, wondering which Jarl it was, although she already had a good idea. Sure enough, the bear head sigil of Windhelm was stamped into the red wax.

"That can't be a coincidence," Leif remarked, also noting the symbol. "Should probably read it, anyway."

Liv nodded as she broke the seal and unrolled the parchment. Then she cleared her throat and read the words aloud: " _Dragonborn_ —ooh, how formal!— _you are hereby summoned to attend Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak on a matter of great importance. You are expected to respond promptly_ —pfft!— _Disregarding this summons is subject to_ blah blah blah." She crumpled the parchment and stuffed it inside her knapsack, done with it. It was your typical, formal summons. "'Matter of great importance'. Are you thinking Dawnstar? Because that's what I'm thinking. It _must_ be bad if Ulfric is requesting my help."

"Only one way to find out," Leif said.

The rest of the trip took no more than fifteen minutes, so it was still early in the morning when they stepped through Windhelm's main gates. There were only a few locals out, roaming the narrow, snow-covered walks and passages. It would be a few hours yet before the shops and stalls opened for business and the town bustled with life. Although 'bustled' and 'life' were loose terms. Windhelm was as grim as a graveyard. Liv had noticed on the several occasions she'd visited the town that no one ever smiled and it seemed almost everyone had some kind of grief or misfortune in their lives. She often wondered if it was a reflection of Ulfric's leadership. Surely it accounted for the suffering in the Gray Quarter, at least, of which the Jarl seemed to disregard intentionally. She had tried on several occasions to talk him into opening a dialogue with the Dunmer citizens, but the stubborn lump would hear none of it. He'd even threatened to have her thrown in jail the last time, if she persisted on telling him how to run his own city. There was little she could do beyond that, though. Sadly, Leif had been right in saying there was no authority in being the Dragonborn.

 _But there should be_ , Liv thought, eying a vagrant woman in tattered roughspun, standing outside Candlehearth Hall where she warmed her hands over a brazier. _If I had authority, I would put a stop to this._

"So, what's first on the agenda?" Leif asked.

"I'm going to run Ambarys's gift over to him," Liv said, turning to her brother. "And while I'm doing that, perhaps you two could go to the inn and ask around about the peddler. We'll answer the summons last, give the Jarl time to drag his precious arse out of bed." She looked from Leif to Miraak and then back to Leif again. "I trust you two won't kill each other in the ten minutes I'm gone?"

Leif produced a ferocious grin full of teeth. "Oh, we'll get along _just fine._ "

" _Leif_ ," Liv reprimanded, like a mother who has just caught her child stealing a sweet roll.

Her brother laughed. "It's not me you have to worry about. It's him. I'll be on my best behavior if he will, always assuming his best behavior comes with any kind of civility."

If Leif was trying to provoke Miraak, it wasn't working, thank the Gods for that. The man paid him no mind, looking around the city with what might have been mild curiosity.

"I'll leave you both to it, then," Liv said.

After handing over a small pouch of septims to the vagrant woman to purchase some food and a warm bed for herself, Liv started off for the passage into the Gray Quarter.

* * *

Ambarys ended up liking his gift—the ingredients needed to make sujamma, a popular Dunmer beverage—a good deal more than Liv had thought he would. He'd come out of his cantankerous shell and talked her ear off for thirty minutes, even offered up a sort-of compliment: _For a Nord, you are_ surprisingly _thoughtful._ She supposed that was as close to one as he was ever going to get.

When Liv arrived at Candlehearth Hall, it was still fairly early. There were not many people at the inn; a few locals and one or two unfamiliar faces having breakfast at the counter. Liv could hear a little chatter coming from upstairs and the musical twang of a bard's lute—it was never too early for music.

Leif sat at one end of the counter, hunkered over a bowl of something, and Miraak stood leaning against a wall, arms folded at his chest, scowling at nothing in particular. Liv noticed two women huddled together at the far end of the counter, giggling to each other while they openly ogled the man. She couldn't say she was surprised he'd attract attention. Miraak was a prick, but he was a devastatingly handsome prick, to say nothing of those stunning turquoise eyes.

 _You really should_ not _be noticing things like that about him; he's the enemy, the loathsome enemy,_ the voice of Reason was quick to inform her. If there was ever good counsel, that was it.

Liv walked up to the counter to join her brother, and tapped him on the shoulder. "Here I am. Any news about that peddler?"

Miraak answered for him, which was probably for the best seeing as how Leif's mouth was full of porridge at the moment. "No, your peddler has not been seen. We leave. Now. We have already wasted enough time here waiting on _you_."

"What's your hurry?" Liv countered.

Before he could respond, one of the women at the counter—a shapely and pretty blonde Nord Liv had never seen in Windhelm before—spoke at him, her voice saccharine and flirty. "Hey there, handsome. Can I buy you a drink?"

Miraak scowled at her as if she had insulted him. "Who are you to dare address me with such bold impropriety?"

The woman batted her eyelashes at him, seemingly oblivious to his ill manners. Perhaps she thought he was playing hard-to-get. "I'm Fenja. Why don't you join me? We can get to know each other better. Unless you're already with someone..." Her eyes, big and blue, shifted inquiringly over to Liv.

Liv laughed brightly. "Oh, no, no. Have at him, I must _insist_!"

Leif snickered around another spoonful of porridge, having a good idea his sister was trying to have some fun at the man's expense.

The woman—Fenja—looked delighted. Miraak, not so much. His face had gone an interesting shade of red; whether that was from anger or embarrassment, Liv didn't know. He turned away, not before giving Liv one hell of a scathing look, and then stormed off for the door.

"Don't go far," Liv called after him. "I _will_ hunt you down."

The man made no response, other than slamming the door shut behind him. _How mature_ , Liv thought as she turned back to the counter, and saw that Fenja looked hurt.

"Don't fret, kinswoman," she tried to console her. "Unless you prefer a man with a superiority complex, ill manners, and all the charm of a bloated corpse, you're not missing out on much."

The woman smiled a little, and then went back to conversing with her female companion.

Liv leaned on the counter and looked at her brother as he was finishing off his bowl of porridge. "Was he telling the truth about the peddler?"

Leif nodded, pushing the bowl aside and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I asked around, gave the description of the peddler that you gave me, but no one's seen him. He's probably gone from the area by now, so it looks like Ulfric's our best bet for information."

Liv sighed. "I guess. You think he's up yet?"

"If not now, then soon," Leif replied as he stood from the stool and pulled the strap of his knapsack over his head. "Should probably head to the Palace, in any case."

"Let's go, then."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

* * *

 **There** was no denying it. He had overreacted to the situation at the inn. Slamming the door on his way out had been juvenile, and he should have never left the situation at all. It was cowardly.

 _Such behavior is far beneath me_ , Miraak berated himself as he marched up the snow-caked passage between Candlehearth Hall and the stone wall that quartered off the west side of the city, passing among a handful of citizens. One of them, a scarred man in dirty threadbare clothes who reeked of stale onions and piss and some other odious scents Miraak didn't care to identify, tried to beg a coin off him, but one threatening look had the vagrant backing away in haste.

That damn woman at the inn—she and her shameless come-ons—had caught him off guard, unsettled him even, and of course the Dragonborn just had to try and make it worse by encouraging her behavior. To think that someone would look at him like that, and speak to him so inappropriately was…well, it was certainly a new experience, and he found he didn't much care for that kind of attention. It had left him feeling something akin to embarrassment, an emotion he was only vaguely familiar with. These unfamiliar situations, which his vast knowledge seemed useless in dealing with, were becoming all too frequent, and the irony was not lost on him. Here was yet another cruel lash from Akatosh's whip of righteous retribution.

Miraak considered the possibility that such forward, indecent behavior might be normal in this age. Regardless, it had been far from normal in _his_ , at least where the temples and their priests were concerned. No peasant would have risked acting inappropriately toward a mere servant of the temples, let alone one of its high priests. To do so invited a brutal flogging or even death, depending upon said priest's discretion. And while there had been women among their lesser ranks, it had been forbidden for anyone within the order to form romantic attachments or engage in casual dalliances, as they were considered both a distraction from the worship of the dragons and frailties that must be conquered—love and lust turned great men into great fools, as the saying went, and the dragons didn't suffer fools. Not overcoming those things was not only inexcusable, but _punishable_.

Miraak had never had any difficulty there, although not from any inclination to obey the rules or out of fear of any penalty—he had been punished so often in his youth for his wayward nature that he had become accustomed to it. Sure, he might have noticed a pretty face or a pleasing form or two, might have even succumbed to them had he been a weaker man. But he _wasn't_ weak, and he was not just a man. He was a dragon as well, and dragons had no use for such irrelevant things as love and lust. Dragons had power, and Miraak had been devoted to honing his to the deadliest edge and gaining more where more could be found, with the single purpose of using it all to rise above his contemporaries and the dragons themselves. Nothing else had mattered.

Still, being unaccustomed to flirtation was no excuse for his behavior, no matter how embarrassing and uncomfortable the experience had been. He should not have overreacted. Moreover, he should not have done it in the Dragonborn's presence. The irksome creature already looked for any reason to mock and irritate him. There was no need in _giving_ her one.

"Hey, Ego!" a voice suddenly called out from somewhere behind him—an all too familiar voice.

Miraak cursed. Gods be good, it was as if his thoughts had _summoned_ her.

"What in Oblivion is wrong with you?" the Dragonborn demanded as she and her brother caught up to him on the icy, fractured steps leading up to the palace. "You had no call being rude to that woman."

"How I choose to conduct myself to others is none of your concern," Miraak shot back, never losing a step.

The Dragonborn skirted around in front of him, forcing him to stop short. " _Wrong_. While you're in my company, everything you do and say reflects upon me," she chastised, stabbing him in the chest with a finger. "And I won't have you ruining _my_ sterling reputation by being a boorish prick. Gods only know why, but she was only showing an interest in you. I don't know what it was like in your day, but in this one that's considered a _compliment_."

Miraak made a throaty sound of derision. To say that woman was just 'showing an interest' was putting it mildly. From the moment he had walked into that inn, the woman _and_ her companion had been staring at him (and certain parts of him) like a pair of starving, _giggling_ wolves at a piece of raw meat. He didn't need the experience to know when a woman looked at you like that there was only one thing on her mind. "I would not consider the flirtations of a _promiscuous_ woman to be a compliment," he said.

Liv glowered at him as she set her hands against her hips. When she spoke, her voice oozed venomous sarcasm: "Promiscuous? I wasn't aware you were so informed about her sex life."

Miraak's face twitched with a barely there grimace, but he otherwise did not dignify that with a response.

"How dare you stand there and pass judgment on her, someone you don't even _know._ "

"I shall pass my judgment wherever and however I see fit. Her unseemly behavior speaks for itself."

Liv gawked at him in disbelief. "'Unseemly behavior? So _flirting_ makes a woman a _trollop_?"

Miraak shrugged in a flippant, you-said-it-not-me kind of way, knowing full well it would only further her irritation with him. He _wanted_ to further it, despite knowing he shouldn't; there was a part of him that found her anger deliciously satisfying and amusing, yet at the same time he was aware that antagonizing her would not help his true plans of vengeance to fruition. The pleasure he got from angering her was not worth what he could gain in the future from having her trust and staying on her good side. _Only this once_ , he told himself. _Then no more._

As he'd wanted, the disbelieving expression on Liv's face imploded into a scowl of impotent outrage. "I can't even…how _dare_ …of all the…!" She threw her hands up, huffing out the rest of her disgust. "Forget it! I'm just going to attribute this nonsense to the fact that you are _primitive_ and thus ignorant to the ways of modern women."

With that, the creature marched off for the palace, shaking her head and muttering something that sounded suspiciously like 'stupid sexist barbaric pig'. The brother fell in step beside her without a word, sparing Miraak a raised brow and a derisive shake of his head, which he duly ignored.

Miraak drifted slowly after the siblings, unconcerned with keeping up. He fixed his gaze on the stone, multi-tiered Palace of the Kings and made a small sound of approval under his breath. It was not as grand as the temples had been, but grand in its own right, as much as he had imagined it would be up close; strong and firm as the land it stood on, huge and looming, and scarred from the battles it had endured throughout time—a true testament of Nord strength and perseverance.

The interior of the palace turned out to be just as grand as the exterior with its soaring stone ceiling and capacious Great Hall, which looked like it could have held an audience of a hundred people. The air was pleasantly cool and redolent of wood smoke, roasted meat, and grilled leaks, of which the latter two provoked the first pangs of hunger Miraak had felt in over four thousand years. A long feast table was situated toward the far end of the room, where a mustachioed man sat having his breakfast. At the back wall, the raised stone throne that Ysgramor himself had once sat on stood proud and erect, the blue banners depicting the bear head sigil of Eastmarch hanging high above it. Now, the legendary seat was occupied by a burly, blond Nord in his prime, wearing light ringmail beneath a thick mantle of black bear fur.

Miraak assumed this was the famous (or infamous, depending on who you asked) Ulfric Stormcloak, the renegade Jarl who had allegedly ripped apart Skyrim's latest High King with the _Thu'um_ and lead the on-going rebellion against the Empire. Miraak had learned of this as he had learned of all recent events in Tamriel, at least those not yet put down in writing: through his network of underlings, most of whom were long-lived Dunmer with a few centuries' worth of information. Otherwise, he had relied on the innumerable tomes of Apocrypha to learn what had been happening in the world over the last four millennia.

It seemed he and the Last had at least one other thing in common besides the Dragonborn heritage: Miraak already didn't like this man. He sat on that throne as if it had been made for him alone, projecting a stifling air of high dignity and arrogance. Here was a man who already thought himself king despite not yet earning the title. Ah, but the ones who projected the hardest were often the ones who had the most to compensate for, and Ulfric had a lot to compensate for. Miraak could sense the weakness even as the man suppressed it; the shame and anguish, and the miserable self-loathing. No, Ulfric was not a king; he was a broken man trying to play at one, and as far as Miraak was concerned, he was worthy of nothing but contempt.

"Well, here I am," Liv announced as she strode up to the throne, swiping a green apple from a bowl on the feast table as she passed it and earning a glare from the mustachioed man sitting there.

"A day late," the Jarl rumbled, staring down at the woman with eyes that were as hard and gray as the ancient stone he sat on. "I was expecting you yesterday."

"And _I_ was expecting a hot meal, some spiced mead, and a nap after a whole month in Solstheim dealing with a Daedric Prince and a delusional madman wanting to take over all of Tamriel, but that didn't happen, either," Liv shot back as she stuffed the apple into her knapsack. "I'm sure someone told your courier that I wasn't even in Skyrim yesterday when he came looking for me in Winterhold. It's not my fault if he didn't tell _you_."

Standing at her right side, Leif covered his eyes with a hand and let out a long-suffering groan. "Here we go _again_ …"

The Jarl shifted in his seat, gripping the armrests tightly like he was restraining himself. When he spoke, his voice was tight and unfriendly. "I did not summon you here to quarrel, Dragonborn. There is—"

"And yet you started in on me the second I arrived," the woman interrupted, chin thrust in the air, pale blue eyes fixed glacially on the Jarl.

It wasn't just her eyes that were cold, either. It felt like all the space around her had dipped toward the freezing mark, and the tension in the room was thick, palpable.

Leif put a hand on his sister's shoulder and leaned in to whisper something in her ear. The Dovahkiin made an unpleasant face and shrugged his hand off. Whatever he'd said seemed to have gotten through, however, for she grudgingly backed off of the Jarl.

"I assume this is about what happened in Dawnstar?"

Ulfric's brows twitched upward in surprise. "So you have already heard?"

"Dagur at the Frozen Hearth in Winterhold mentioned a peddler who'd come through with quite the story to tell," Liv explained. "Found the town deserted, and was chased off by a Dwemer construct. Dagur thought he was on skooma, though."

Ulfric nodded as she spoke. "Ah, that would be the same man who brought the news to me yesterday, in the early hours of the morning. I had one of my scouts confirm his story. While she found no Dwemer contraptions, the citizens are indeed gone. Some residences and shops were broken into, and the scout found blood and a few dead, all of them guardsmen. No other bodies were found. Given the evidence of violence and the fact that none of the citizens have turned up yet, dead or alive, we can only presume they were forced out of Dawnstar, perhaps taken hostage."

"How many guards?" Liv asked. "And what kinds of wounds did they have?"

"Three in total, according to the scout, but she did not specify what their wounds were."

"A shame. That might have been telling," Liv stated with some disappointment. "Still, considering the fact that so many people have disappeared—Dawnstar has a population of just over twenty—we're definitely looking at a group effort here. Maybe bandits; they're known to raid towns and take hostages, to ransom them off."

The Jarl negated that suggestion with a firm shake of his head. "Dawnstar is— _was_ —well-manned, and the men too well-trained to be overcome by simple bandits. And bandits are disorganized at the best of times; they're not capable of pulling off a raid of this caliber. Besides, they are also known for plundering, yet while most of the homes and shops were broken into, they were not looted; coin purses, expensive trinkets and things of that nature had all been left behind." He shook his head again, reaffirming himself. "No, whoever targeted Dawnstar did so with the specific purpose of taking its people."

"But _why_?" the Dovahkiin asked, though it seemed to be directed more inward than outward.

Ulfric clenched his jaw, making the tendons in his neck and the small veins at his temples stand out, and then he exhaled long and hard. "If I knew the answer to that, I would not have summoned you here. The whole incident is bizarre. Whoever had a hand in this managed to pull it off without being noticed, as there seems to be no witnesses to what actually happened. Wuunferth suggested there must be skilled mages involved, seeing as how it would be impossible to subdue that many people and move them without being seen unless some kind of magical assistance was employed, and I am inclined to agree."

"Well, did your wizard offer any suggestions on what they could have used?" Liv asked. "Because, to my knowledge, only the Mass Paralysis spell would work effectively in subduing a lot of people, and only if there are a lot of mages with a boat-load of magicka to cast it and keep it in effect. I suppose they could be using staves, as well, though."

"Wuunferth said the same thing. He also suggested they could have used an altered version of the Invisibility spell that would allow them to cast it on others as well as themselves, or perhaps they used potions."

"In regards to not being seen, I don't see that spells or potions make much of a difference," Leif spoke up, arms folded at his armored chest. "Invisibility is just an illusion, a mind trick. It only makes people _think_ you're not there, but you're still going to have an effect on your environment, right?"

The Dragonborn glanced inquiringly at her sibling. "What're you getting at, Leif?"

Miraak answered for him, hoping to move this along quicker. He had a pretty good idea where the man was going with this. "The point your sibling is trying to make is that, invisible or not, there still would have been evidence of their presence—footprints, sounds, or even scents, for example."

"Exactly," Leif confirmed. "Footprints are what I was thinking—well, tracks in general. The mages or whoever did this would've left behind footprints, and considering they had to transport the people somehow, whether they dragged or carted them off, that would've left tracks, as well. You'd think someone would've noticed them." He glanced at the male Dragonborn, narrowing his eyes a little. "You just made yourself _somewhat_ useful. I honestly don't know whether to be surprised or suspicious."

Miraak's responsive smile was calm and smug. "There is just one small error in your deduction. It snows _consistently_ in the north. Given that this incident took place at least a day ago, the odds are those tracks were buried under a fresh coating."

It was Ulfric who verified this. "He's right. My scout made mention of the fresh undisturbed snow. It seems a snowstorm had passed through before she arrived."

"That doesn't necessarily mean someone _else_ didn't come across them before that snowstorm came and buried them," Liv pointed out. "Hunters prowl the Pale for game all the time."

"If they saw anything they have not yet come forward with it," the Jarl said with dismissive tones. "Until then, we must work with what little we have. I've sent some men to hold the town in the likely event the Imperials try to claim it. I need you to get over there and investigate, and put a stop to whatever is going on. Whoever took these people from their homes wanted them alive, otherwise we would have found more bodies, and I expect you to bring them back home _alive_."

Liv inclined her head. "I'll do what I can. But just so we're clear, if the Imperials _do_ try to claim Dawnstar, don't expect me to help your men keep it."

Ulfric scoffed. "Of course not. You made clear your intent to remain uninvolved in this conflict at the peace conference. I had thought, however, that you would come to your senses once the World-Eater was vanquished, and stand with your people against their oppressors."

Miraak narrowed his eyes at the man and clenched his teeth so hard it made his jaw ache. Who did this jumped-up bastard think he was, to dare _expect_ anything of a Dragonborn, let alone one's loyalty? "You should count yourself fortunate the Dragonborn still stands where she does, and not with the Empire. If she could bring down Alduin, she will certainly have no difficulty with _you_."

"Never have truer words been spoken," Liv added with a savage grin.

Ulfric stiffened, a dangerous fire flaring up in his eyes. "You _dare_ threaten me?"

" _No_ —absolutely not," Leif said before either Dragonborn could reply, alarmed by how quickly this had escalated. _Idiots, the both of them! They're just asking to get us thrown in the dungeons, or worse,_ he thought as he laid hands on his sister's shoulders, steered her in the direction of the exit, and _pushed_ before she made any further attempt at challenging the man. "I apologize for them, my Jarl. They mean no harm; this is just their _moronic_ idea of a joke. We'll be heading to Dawnstar immediately."

Ulfric grunted, his hard gaze pinned on the Dragonborn's back. "Consider this a final warning: I tolerate only so much insolence, and your sister and her companion are not above a place in my dungeon. You may leave, but I expect to be kept informed on your progress."

"Of course," Leif said, breathing an internal sigh of relief. "You'll be the first to know when we learn something."

* * *

Dawnstar was normally a nine hour trip from Windhelm on foot. By horseback that time could be cut down to six hours, so after departing from the palace the trio headed straight for the Windhelm stables and purchased a pair of horses for the men to ride—black-and-white geldings that were as tame and gentle as a spring breeze, at least they were until Liv summoned Arvak, a skeletal steed from the Soul Cairn. Then they were shrieking and rearing up in terror, nearly throwing their riders. Fortunately, both men were experienced enough in the saddle to stay seated, and Liv used the Kyne's Peace Shout to calm the beasts down again.

The siblings rode side by side as they always did, while the antique Dragonborn took the lead. Oddly the man seemed to know exactly where to go. Either Skyrim hadn't changed much in four thousand years or he'd gotten his knowledge of its current geography from Apocrypha, maybe even his lackeys.

Liv briefly wondered what would become of those cultists now that their 'lord-god' had been brought to heel, always assuming there were any of them left. Miraak's following hadn't been particularly large, and Liv, Leif, and Frea of the Skaal had struck the heart of it when they invaded his temple, never mind all the cultists the Night-Born siblings had killed in their travels. It was possible there were still some out there with orders to hunt her down and kill her, who did not yet know of their master's 'defeat'. They were going to be in for quite a surprise if they ever found her, and Liv was almost looking forward to it.

The first leg of the journey to Dawnstar went by slowly and in utter silence, although Liv had been getting a strong sense from her brother that he wanted to say something. He also kept stealing glances at her and opening his mouth to say what he wanted to say only to close it again in silence. It was not like him to be so tight-lipped.

"Just say it," Liv prompted him finally as she rummaged through her knapsack for the apple she'd taken from Ulfric's table. "I know you want to scold me for what happened at the palace, so get it out already before you burst."

But Leif only shook his head and focused his gaze straight ahead, his mouth set in a tight grimace. It was a look Liv knew all too well, the same one their father had often used to express his disapproval with her. Leif was the spitting image of him when he made that face.

Liv took a big bite out of the green fruit, the slightly sour juice like ambrosia on her palate. "I'm not going to apologize for it, if that's what you're expecting," she said with a mouth full. "He started it."

Leif's jaw tightened as if he were literally biting back his words. Nonetheless, they came out. He couldn't help it. "That's a piss-poor excuse for _threatening_ a Jarl. He made a comment you could have just as easily ignored."

"Hey, _I_ didn't threaten him. _He_ did," Liv said, pointing a finger at the other Dragonborn.

"Well, you certainly didn't help the situation by backing up his threat, but I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you would."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Leif laughed without humor. "I love you, sister, I really do, but sometimes you are just so… _infuriatingly_ arrogant and overbearing. Just because you're the Dragonborn who defeated Alduin doesn't mean you can say and do whatever the hell you want and expect to get away with it."

"That is _precisely_ what it means," Miraak spoke up from the front. "Who, after all, stands a chance of stopping her? You? _Ulfric Stormcloak,_ that broken, pathetic excuse for a man?" He let out a quiet laugh that was half genuine amusement and half scorn.

Leif glared _hard_ at the man, as if he thought his eyes had the power to burn holes through the back of Miraak's skull. " _Shut up_ before I shut you up. Your damn mouth has already done enough damage—just as you'd _intended_ , I'm sure. We're lucky Ulfric needs us to investigate Dawnstar, otherwise we'd be sitting in his dungeon right now."

Miraak did not respond verbally, nor did he spare the man a look. Instead, he raised his right hand and extended the middle finger back at Leif. It was a crude gesture he had only recently gotten familiar with, due in no small part to the Dragonborn. In those moments he had appeared to claim the souls of her defeated prey, the woman had often directed this gesture at him while also yelling 'fuck you' with the all the ferocity of a Shout. Miraak, who was no dummy, understood the gesture and curse were synonymous with each other. If there was ever a perfect hand gesture response to Leif and his complaining, well, that was it.

From the back of Arvak, Liv nearly choked on a piece of half-chewed apple as she was seized by uncontrollable laugher. "A priest flipping the naughty finger— _now_ I have officially seen everything."

Leif made a face and shook his head. "Don't encourage him, Liv. He's enough of a pain in the arse as it is."

"You know, I find it curious that while your Jarl was _blatantly_ disrespecting the Dragonborn, you neglected to speak out against it," Miraak said. "One would think one's own kin would take up for them without question or hesitation, yet it was I—the _enemy_ no less—who knew enough to speak on her behalf."

Leif tensed, curling his fingers tightly around his horse's reins. He was about to snap back when he caught the look on Liv's face. Her good humor was gone, replaced by a frown. _No_ , Leif thought uneasily, shaking his head at her. _Don't let him get in your head._ "That's _horseshit_ , and you know it. This is just his pathetic attempt to throw dirt on me."

"Except you _didn't_ say anything," Liv said.

"What was I supposed to say, Liv!?" Leif burst, unable to help his anger. Whether that anger was at her or that _conniving_ _bastard_ or himself, he did not know. Probably it was all three. "No one is innocent in this situation—not you, not Ulfric, and certainly not _him_. I didn't say anything because I didn't want to make the situation _worse_!"

"Yet you were quick to apologize for _our_ behavior, and quick to take her out of the situation," Miraak said, smiling to himself, _thoroughly_ enjoying this. "Almost as if you thought _she_ would make it worse. Indeed, it's quite clear who you believe is innocent…and whose side you are on."

Oh, that was fucking _it_.

Leif spurred his horse forward with only one intention in mind, his face twisted in rage.

"Leif! _Don't_!" Liv cried, dropping her unfinished apple to the ground, but it was already too late.

With so little space between them to begin with, Miraak had no time to react. Leif was upon him in a flash, rising from his saddle and throwing himself into the other man with enough force to knock him from his horse. Both men landed hard on the snow-packed earth just off to the side of the road. Miraak was only fortunate that Leif didn't land on top of him; with the combined weight of the man, his dragon bone armor, and gravity, he might have been crushed.

With no riders to rein them to a halt, the horses continued to trot off up the worn, cobbled road.

"Stop this, right now!" Liv shouted to no avail as she dismounted Arvak.

Not wanting to be caught at a disadvantage on the ground, both men scrambled to their feet and squared off, balling their hands and sizing each other up.

"Let's see how fucking clever you are after I put my fist through your goddamn head!" Leif snarled as he lurched at Miraak and threw a straight-line punch at his face, and with all his strength behind it.

There was a muted _smack_ as Leif's fist collided with Miraak's gloved palm instead. The man's face was utterly expressionless, but his eyes flared a menacing, reptilian green as he tightened his grip over Leif's hand and wrenched it back within a hair of breaking the small bones in his wrist. Leif hissed, swung in with his free hand, and missed the man's face again as he angled to let his pauldron take the blow. Leif's fist banged painfully into the metal then he suddenly felt squeezing pressure around his throat, so strong it threatened to crush his windpipe.

"Not so easy when you cannot strike me from behind, is it?" Miraak sneered. "I don't need magic or Shouts to kill you. Tempt me again and I will not hesitate in breaking my word to your sister."

"Don't act like you had any intention of keeping it in the first place," Leif spat— _choked_ —back. "You honorless piece of—"

The thundering power of the _Thu'um_ cut him off, issued forth from an irate, fed up Last Dragonborn: " _Fus_ _Ro!_ "

The toned down Shout held just enough oomph to knock both men to their knees without seriously hurting them, although Liv was tempted to add _Dah_ and send them both flying arse over head, angry as she was at the moment.

" _Knock that shit off!_ " Liv further roared. She stood not far from them, legs apart, hands curled into fists, eyes flashing. "If I have to break you two up again, you're both going to be in a _world_ of shit! Now get up off the goddamn ground and let's go!"

Grumbling and glaring at one another, both men managed to pick themselves up off the ground with a bit of dignity. They looked like they would go after each other again, so Liv let out a growl of warning. It had no effect on Miraak, but it was enough to make Leif grudgingly turn away without a word and go after his horse, where it was now standing a ways up the road with its stablemate, nosing around in a snowberry shrub.

"Make no mistake," Miraak called after him as he roughly brushed snow off his robe. "This is far from over."

Leif did not so much as glance back. He didn't need to.

Liv stepped in front of the other Dragonborn, facing him, acting as a fierce shield for her brother. "You will have to go through me to get to him. So either this is over or _you_ are over—take your pick."

Miraak let out a quiet, humorless chuckle. "Spare me your empty threats. We both know you will not go against Akatosh's will."

"As I've pointed out before, killing you only goes against His will if it's cold-blooded murder, but I can certainly end your miserable existence if you threaten my brother's life again," Liv said, her eyes fixed dangerously on his. "So go ahead, Miraak. _Give me a reason_."

Miraak stepped closer, glaring down at the woman. "Your fool of a brother struck first. If you think I am not going to defend myself, you are gravely mistaken. So I would suggest you keep him in line, for his sake as well as your own." He started to step around her, paused at her side for a moment, and then regarded her with a somewhat calmer expression. "Your loyalty to him is understandable, Dragonborn, but nonetheless it's misplaced. You don't see it—perhaps you don't _want_ to—but I do. He questions and tries to control you. One must wonder why that is."

"He _doesn't_ ," Liv spat, not looking at him.

"No? Shall we revisit what happened at the palace in Windhelm? Do you not find it odd that while _I_ was the one who threatened the Jarl, it was _you_ who your brother interfered with? By forcing you out of the situation, he was trying to control you, and he would not try to control you if he did not _doubt_ you."

Liv scoffed. "Don't confuse trying to control me with trying to control the _situation_. Leif was right. We were both out of line, you more than me."

"If that's what you wish to believe."

"Don't patronize me, you arsehole!"

"That man is an inferior _insect._ He should show more respect to a Dragonborn, even you. We did nothing wrong."

Liv looked up at him now, and in utter disbelief. "What? But _you_ disrespect me _all the time_."

"I am within my right to, as your superior," Miraak stated, tilting his chin up.

"Ha! Now you're just confusing superior with _delusional_ ," Liv said. "Based on our accomplishments and the fact that _I_ still have _my_ power and can therefore kick your arse six ways from Sundas, I think we both know who the superior one is." She turned away from him, saucily flicked her long braid back, and headed for Arvak, chuckling to herself. "'As your superior', he says. What a _laugh_!"

Miraak glared fire at her and forced a harsh breath through clenched teeth as he made off to retrieve his own mount. By all the damn Aedra and Daedra, he _hated_ that woman.

* * *

The trio reached Dawnstar late that afternoon, and without further incident—aside from a pack of wolves that had tried to make a meal of them, that was, but it had been nothing Kyne's Peace couldn't take care of.

At the approach to the town, two Stormcloak soldiers stood guard on either side of the snowy road, hands on their war axes where they hung at their hips. To the left of the road was a trio of single-person tents encircling a barren campfire and another, larger tent made of various animal hides, what Liv knew to be the camp of a Khajiit merchant caravan. Except there were no Khajiit. As far as she could tell, nothing seemed amiss about the camp; everything was set up all nice and neat. It was almost as if the Khajiit had simply decided to leave without packing.

"Who goes there!?" one of the soldiers called out to the trio. "Dawnstar is off limits, by order of Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Eastmarch and true High King of Skyrim, and…and what in _Talos's_ holy name are you riding!?"

"I'm the Dragonborn, these are my companions, and never mind what I'm riding!" Liv called back. "Ulfric sent me to investigate what happened here."

"Couldn't have asked a better person, then. I hear the Dragonborn is good at solving problems, and we got one _fuck_ of problem on our hands. Er…pardon my language."

Liv pulled Arvak to a stop near the soldier, who eyed the otherworldly steed with open horror and suspicion. Her brother and the other Dragonborn stopped their mounts alongside her. "So, the Khajiit caravanners have disappeared too?" she asked, nodding her head at the seemingly abandoned camp.

"Looks like it," the soldier said, shrugging. "Good riddance to them, I say. A few less thieves we have to worry about."

Liv scowled down at him. "Not all Khajiit are thieves, you know."

"If you say so," the man said with dismissive tones.

Liv opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind and then some, but felt a hand on her arm. She looked to her right, at her brother.

Leif shook his head and gave her arm a light squeeze. "Don't. It's not worth it."

On her left side, Miraak made a point of clearing his throat; a seemingly innocent noise, but Liv knew it was nothing of the sort. It was a question disguised as a sound: _You see what I mean now?_

Liv decided it was best to just ignore them both and focus her attention on the soldier and the matter at hand. "I have little tolerance for bigoted talk, so I'd advise you to mind what you say around me. Who's in charge here?"

"That would be Ralof," the soldier replied, frowning at her.

Liv's mood did a complete about-face at the mention of a friendly name. She hadn't seen Ralof since the aftermath of Alduin's attack on Helgen, what felt like a million years ago now. A good man, despite fighting for the King Bigot himself; Ralof seemed to not share many of Ulfric's narrow-minded views regarding Skyrim's non-Nord population. "Some good news at last. Where can I find him?"

"Should be over at the Windpeak."

Liv thanked the man as she dismounted Arvak and sent him back to the Soul Cairn. Her male companions dismounted as well, leading their horses by their reins as the small group headed into Dawnstar.

The town was eerily silent at a time it would have been alive with the sounds of life—the _whoooosh_ and _hisssss_ of the smelters as the local miners melted their freshly picked ore into bars of iron and quicksilver, the intermittent _chock_ of firewood being cut by one of the innkeepers, people chattering, a child laughing. The only sound was the wind, howling around the town like a bereaved woman, and the rich baritone of Ralof's voice, coming from outside the Windpeak Inn.

"I want you both with Urda and Vidar, patrolling the outskirts," the man was saying as Liv and company approached the inn. He stood on the porch before two Stormcloak soldiers, a fine sight for sore eyes. Ralof was a tall, sturdily built man, good-looking in a kind of boyish way, and sunny of hair and disposition. "If you see anything suspicious, report to me _immediately_ , quick as you can. We can't afford to be caught unawares."

With those orders, the pair of Stormcloaks headed off to see to them, greeting Liv by her title as they past her at the bottom of the steps. Ralof's face brightened with a grin when he noticed her.

"Liv! Or should I call you 'Dragonborn' now?"

"'Liv' is fine." She came up the steps, smiling. "Well, look at you, ordering people around."

Ralof laughed. "Aye, I was promoted after that mess in Helgen. Commanding my own detachment, now."

Liv clasped forearms with the man in the old Nord tradition of greeting. "Congratulations, my friend." Then she went ahead and pulled him into a brief hug. They had once shared a cart bound for the chopping block, after all, and she and her brother might not have made it out of Helgen alive if not for his help. "It's good to see you again."

"And you," Ralof said, holding her back to get a good look at her. "You're looking well, better than the last time I saw you, in fact. Being Dragonborn suits you."

"Oh, go on," Liv said with faux bashfulness, flapping a hand at him. She turned and gestured to Leif, who was in the process of tying his horse's reins to a fence post. "I'm sure you remember my brother Leif."

"Of course." Ralof came down the stairs to clasp forearms with him. "I've heard it said you once decapitated a dragon with a battle axe. Any truth to that?"

"Hardly," Leif laughed. "Shoved a greatsword through one's eye, though, right up into its brain. Killed it instantly."

Ralof grinned approvingly. "Nice! Once this Dawnstar mess has been cleared up, you can tell me all about it over a tankard or three of mead. You too, Liv—I'm itching to hear about your battle with the World-Eater, and the glory of Sovngarde." He peered beyond Leif's shoulder, finally taking note of their companion, who had tied up his horse some time ago and was now standing there with his arms folded. "Who's your friend there?"

"That's Miraak, our manservant," Liv answered, grinning viciously at said 'manservant', who returned a look of hot contempt.

"That's no Nord name I've ever heard before, and that's a weird get-up for a manservant…or anyone, really," Ralof noted. "Uh, no offense."

"No offense taken," Liv said. "He's a weird person. Anyway, Ulfric sent me to investigate what's happened here, so we'd best get started. Have you moved the dead guardsmen yet?"

"Aye, they're in the barracks until we can give them a proper burial. Why, you think they'll tell you something?"

"I'm hoping their wounds will."

Ralof nodded. "Ah, well, if all you're going to do is look at their wounds, I can save you a trip. They were all three killed by magic, shock spells it looks like. There were also some crossbow bolts in them, but the placing wasn't fatal, so it had to be the magic that done them in."

Liv frowned. Crossbows were the chosen long-range weapon of the Dawnguard, but they were good people. They certainly wouldn't have done something like this. "Anything special about the bolts?"

"The bolt heads are Dwarven metal. Other than that, no," Ralof said.

"Dwarven bolts?" Liv mused, and then she realized something. "Wait. So far, we've had Dwarven bolts, a Dwarven Spider chasing a man from town, and people who have simply vanished into thin air, just like the Dwemer…anyone _else_ sensing a connection?"

"You can't seriously think these people vanished the same way the Dwemer did," Leif said, eying her with disbelief.

"Of course not," Liv replied, sounding almost offended. "But you can't deny the Dwemer connection, either."

"A coincidental connection," Miraak suggested. "Consider the only ones who have a direct connection to the Dwemer, and a clear motive for this in their hatred for anyone who dwells on the surface."

Leif laughed at that. "What, the _Falmer_? A race that has regressed to a primitive state of intelligence, who also happen to be blind? You seriously think they can storm a well-manned town and kidnap its people?"

"They've regressed," Liv said. "But I wouldn't say their intelligence is primitive. They had to retain quite a bit of knowledge from their time as the Snow Elves to be able to cast high level spells, forge armor and weapons, and tame the subterranean denizens. And you damn well know from experience that they make up for their blindness with their uncanny hearing. They have _archers_ , by Shor, and they're _good_."

"And yet they've never stormed a town before," Leif reminded her. "They've only ever raided outlying farms and attacked travelers on the road. And they _kill_ , Liv. Rarely do they take prisoners, let alone a town's worth of them."

Miraak scoffed. "Simply because they haven't done it does not mean they cannot or will not do it eventually." His expression darkened and his voice lowered to an ominous tone to emphasize his next words. "You would do well to remember that."

"Is that supposed to be a threat?" Leif sneered.

Liv sighed long and loud, and then looked to Ralof. "Have you noticed or found anything else?"

Ralof shook his head. "I have a couple men searching the town and the mines, just in case the scout missed anything. I wish I could spare more, but we're stretched pretty thin as it is."

Liv reached out and patted him reassuringly on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it. I mean, investigating this mess is supposed to be—"

"Dragon," Miraak said suddenly, his gaze pinned on the sky.

No sooner had he said it, an unmistakable and hair-raising roar split the air, and then an immense shadow fell over Dawnstar, accompanied by the _fwaap_ of wings.

From somewhere within the town, a patrolling Stormcloak bellowed out the obvious: "A dragon!"

"Oh, for the love of…!" Liv cried up at the mighty, red-scaled beast in frustration. "I don't have time for this right now! Go away! _Shoo!_ "

The red dragon, an ancient and powerful one by the look and sound of it, made a mid-air U-turn, rendering a volley of Stormcloak arrows useless as every last one flew past their target. The _dovah_ alighted on the roof of the inn, which _miraculously_ held under its weight. Fierce yellow eyes zeroed in on a Dragonborn. Unfortunately for the First, it wasn't the Last.

The dragon's maw stretched back in a hideously ferocious grin, revealing an impressive collection of long, sharp teeth. " _Miraak_. So, the _vodahmin Dovahkiin_ has finally returned from the realm of his Daedric master? _Pruzah_. I shall have the honor of killing you."

The creature opened his maw wide to issue a Shout, and Liv jumped in front of the other Dragonborn without thinking.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

* * *

" _ **Yol**_ _Toor Shul!_ "

" _Fus Ro Dah!_ "

The two Shouts, uttered in tandem, surged through the air between dragon and Dragonborn, the dragon's cone of seething Fire parting as Liv's raw Force carved a path through it. The wave of power battered into the immense creature, rocking it precariously on its rooftop perch, but it was quick to recover, snapping open its great wings and launching into the air with a roar of rage.

"Coward!" Liv cried as she focused magicka into a shock spell, threads of blue energy crackling to life around her fingers and gathering into her palm. She hurled the Lightning Bolt at a dragon wing, but her timing was off, the bolt missing the creature by only a few frustrating inches. "Come back here and fight m—"

A strong hand fastened onto her upper arm before she could finish, hauling her around in a semi-circle and nearly throwing her off balance.

"What do you think you're doing?" Miraak demanded, face stormy with anger.

"What does it _look_ like—"

"This dragon challenged _me_ , not you!" He squeezed her arm tighter with every belligerent word. "You will not meddle in this as you meddled in everything else; it is not your place, it is not your _right_!"

Liv took back her arm with surprising strength, glowering, lips pressed in a tight line of disgust. "I have all the right in the damn world, seeing as how you stole all those dragon souls that were _rightfully_ mine."

"That is not the same as this! There is a significant difference between stealing the prize and interfering with the challenge: _my_ actions did not bring you dishonor."

Wait— _that's_ what he was angry about, that she would somehow disgrace him by interfering? _Unbelievable,_ she thought. As if he hadn't already done an exceptional job of disgracing himself a long time ago.

"I wasn't aware you had any honor left to damage," Liv retorted. "Regardless, I don't see you carrying a weapon. So unless you plan to pull one out of your arse, you're not exactly in a position to take on this dragon."

 _Unbelievable!_ Miraak seethed, squeezing his hands into tight fists, an effort at restraint. He very much wanted to grab her again—by the _neck_ this time. She spoke like his being weaponless was his own fault. "You are the one who forced me into this position by _stealing_ my weapons—"

"I didn't _steal_ them; I _confiscated_ them. There's a difference!"

"—and refusing me to carry any others."

"For _obvious_ reas—"

" _Hey!_ " Leif disrupted, glaring at them. "Argue later! It's coming back down to attack!"

Liv wheeled around as the dragon made its descent from the sky, opening its maw to strafe them with flame. Worriedly, she noticed Ralof was missing, but there was nothing to be done about that right now.

"Leif, get behind me!" she called while readying a spell. " _Ego_ , you might want to stay behind me where it's safe."

Leif, with greatsword in hand, did as she said, dodging behind her as she pushed her hands out and up to cast Greater Ward.

Miraak simply stepped off to the side, wanting nothing to do with her offer of 'safety'. The day he needed _her_ to protect him was the day he chopped off his own arm and ate it. He was inherently resilient enough to withstand a good number of destructive Shouts, even without the absorption enchantments on his clothes, which he was indeed without. Normally they allowed him to absorb a good bit of magicka from spells and breath attacks, weakening their potency, but only when his own magicka was in depletion. Seeing as how he couldn't cast, those enchantments were useless now.

The dragon roared overhead, spewing a river of orange fire up the path, melting the snow covering it and incinerating a handful of snowberry shrubs alongside it. The funnel of flame passed over the Night-Born siblings, Liv's translucent, elliptical mage-shield rippling as it deflected the inferno.

As the ancient red ascended once again to circle back into another position of attack, Liv dropped the ward and turned to her brother. "Where's Ralof?"

"While you were bickering, I told him to get his men and himself indoors until the dragon's dealt with."

"Oh." She realized she hadn't even noticed her brother speaking to Ralof. _You might have, if you hadn't been arguing. Distracted, and with a dragon about to boot? Stupid, Liv._ "Good thinking, brother."

"Aye. You wanna Dragonrend this bastard now so I can finish it off?"

"Of cour…" Liv trailed off as something suddenly occurred to her: _What if the dragon saw what happened here?_ "Wait a minute!" She pointed a finger at Miraak, who had been the first to notice the creature as it arrived. "You—which direction did the dragon come from?"

"What does it matter?"

"Never mind that. _Which direction_?"

The man narrowed his eyes at her commanding tone, and had to remind himself for the umpteenth time that he was supposed to be trying to get on her good side, which he admittedly hadn't been doing a good job of yet. "Southeast," he said, unable to help his grudging tone, "over the mountains."

That was what Liv hoped to hear. Those mountains were Mount Anthor, a known dragon roost. Dragons liked to patrol the expanse of their territory, so if this one had made Anthor its _hofkah_ , it was possible it had seen what happened in Dawnstar. Maybe. Dragons were also drawn to their kin. She, Leif and Miraak had been jaunting around northern Skyrim for a little over a day, now. The dragon should've detected the unusual presence of two Dragonborn (Miraak specifically, since it seemed the beast had come here solely for him) sooner and therefore _attacked_ sooner if it had been in the area this whole time. There would have been ample opportunity to engage them; in Winterhold or any moment along their journeys to Windhelm and Dawnstar. Yet it hadn't. Perhaps it had come from elsewhere, then.

 _It still might be worth questioning it. What do I have to lose?_

"Both of you stay put," Liv said without further explanation.

She turned and sprinted up the path as the ancient red plunged down from the sky and landed on the Jarl's longhouse, the impact disturbing sheets of loose snow from the rooftop.

"Liv!" Leif cried, starting after her. "What in—"

"No time! Just trust me!"

Leif gritted his teeth, coming to a reluctant halt. Gods, he hated it when she did this, insisting she act alone and keeping her intentions to herself. How was he supposed to know what to be prepared for if he didn't know what she was doing?

The dragon drew in air to unleash another Shout. Liv threw her arms out wide as if she meant to fly.

" _Drem!_ " she declared, voice firm. "Stay your _Thu'um,_ dragon. Let us speak in peace."

" _Ruth!_ _Beyn!_ " the dragon snarled back. "I will not fall for your trickery, _Dovahkiin_! You will not stand in the way of my _nahkriin_ —my vengeance—on this _tahrodiis sonaak!_ "

 _Ugh._ Liv had but a split second to cast another ward as the enraged creature vomited fire at her again. "You're making a _big_ mistake! Your vengeance is unnecessary! The _tahrodiis sonaak_ suffers the ultimate penalty, handed down by Akatosh Himself!"

The dragon was beyond listening, though, its furious hatred for the Traitor apparently too great for reason. Liv supposed she should've foreseen this. It looked like she was going to have to beat it into submission if she wanted to question it.

As soon as the dragon's flame fizzled out against her magic shield, the beast flapped its wings and ascended again, but it didn't get far this time.

"No you _don't_!" Liv cried. " _Joor Zah Frul!_ "

Meanwhile, Leif was so engrossed in keeping an eye on his sister and trying to figure out what she was up to that he didn't sense the presence skulking in behind his back.

Miraak drove a foot into the back of the man's right knee and shoved against his back for good measure. Leif tumbled forward with a surprised noise, losing his grip on his greatsword to break his fall on his hands. Before he could reach for his weapon, Miraak snatched it up and pushed its keen edge under Leif's chin, against the vulnerable flesh of his throat.

Leif tensed and glared up at him, flashing his teeth in a snarl. "Go ahead. She'll Shout you into a million pieces."

Miraak smirked fiendishly. "I have no doubt she would _try_ , for what little good it would do her. Fortunately for you, I'm not going to kill you just yet." He eased the blade a bit deeper against Leif's neck, just on the edge of drawing blood. "Where would be the fun in that, when you have made it so easy for me?"

He could've done it even before he'd appropriated the man's greatsword, with the Dwarven knife Liv had given him; jam it in the underside of the jaw and he would be choking on his own blood right now. But no. Where _would_ be the fun in that, when he could manipulate the Dragonborn into killing her own brother for him? His very soul sang at the idea.

Still wearing that villainous smile, Miraak drew away from Leif and sprinted off up the path, where Liv was defending herself against yet another gust of fire from the ancient red. Driven by his dragon-sized pride, he absolutely _refused_ to let her rob him of his right to meet the dragon's challenge as she had robbed him of everything else.

"Bastard son of a whore!" Leif roared as he climbed to his feet and stormed after the other man, moving frustratingly slower than him in his dragon bone armor. "I'm gonna tear your fucking head off when I get my hands on you!"

Liv barely had time to register the yelling before Miraak shot past her with Leif's Daedric greatsword held at the ready. _What in Oblivion…!_ Then, realizing what he meant to do, "No! Don't you _dare_!"

But it was already too late.

The dragon ignored Liv in favor of its original target, snapping at the other Dragonborn with huge sword-sharp teeth. For all his burliness, Miraak was quick and light on his feet, dancing away from that perilous maw, then rushing in on the left to flank it. He moved fluidly into his attack, swinging the greatsword down hard into the dragon's face, carving a long diagonal trench through hide and scales. The creature howled in rage as blood dribbled from its wound and mixed with the mess of churned mud on the ground.

Cursing the man, Liv put out her hands and cast Telekinesis on Miraak, intending to manipulate him out of the fight, to stop him from ruining her plan. She had never used this spell on a person before, didn't know if it would even work, but she saw no other option; Shouting him down or magicking the weapon away would leave him vulnerable to the dragon, which—Akatosh _help_ her—she was unwilling to do, even if the unruly git deserved it.

As soon as she had him in her telekinetic web, his form glowing with a thin, colorful aura, Liv yanked at him with her magicka. Unfortunately, Miraak did no more than slip back a step or two, then Liv felt an immense strain on her mind as he began fighting the spell, trying to pull away from it, gritting his teeth from the effort.

" _Damn you!_ " he bellowed, knowing full well who was interfering with him. "You will _not_ rob me of this too!"

He was right, she wouldn't. It was too much; the effort it took to keep the spell going combined with the strain from his resistance depleted her magicka reserves much too quickly. A haze crept into the edges of her vision as the first waves of vertigo swept through her head and fatigue began to seep into her body. With no choice in the matter, Liv relented.

 _Just as well_ , she supposed. It had done little good. Telekinetically pulling swords from unsuspecting grasps was one thing; pulling people, especially when they were prone to fighting back, was another. It might have helped if she had practiced the spell more.

The fight between dragon and First Dragonborn raged on as Liv swayed from dizziness and pressed her palms against the throb now pulsing in her temples.

" _Ugghhh_ …"

She felt a pair of hands come down gently on her shoulders to steady her—Leif. "You okay?"

"I hate him. I really, _really_ —"

" _Zu'u hin daan_!" roared the other Dragonborn.

The siblings looked over in time to see Miraak, who was now balanced on the dragon's neck, brutally plunge most of Leif's greatsword down into the beast's head. He ripped the blade loose with a grunt, ignoring the spurts of dark blood that came with it, pattering onto his boots and spilling over the dragon's head. As the immense creature slumped to the ground, Miraak casually stepped off its carcass, swinging the bloodied greatsword up to rest on a shoulder, and _smirked_.

Liv glared at him as she clamped down on a vengeful impulse to set his robe on fire. "Well, I hope you're happy. You just cost me some potentially valuable information."

Miraak ignored her, turning his gaze down to the dead dragon as it began to smolder from the inside out, like an impossibly massive ember. Scales and hide burned away from bone, turning to ash and flitting away on the wind blowing in off the ocean. Miraak willed its soul to him, then a cold knot of dismay tightened around his stomach. He couldn't feel it, the familiar pulling sensation from within that always came with commanding their souls.

Ribbons and streamers of light and color—the visual manifestation of the dragon's soul—burst free from the carcass and surged into the other Dragonborn, casting her in a faint aura. For a fleeting moment, the soul burned vividly in her eyes as it melded with her own.

Miraak closed his eyes and clenched his jaw tight, trying and failing to quell a raging flood of useless emotions. It had never crossed his mind that this too had been taken from him. Why would it? It was as natural as breathing, as much a part of him as the heart beating inside his chest, and the thing that defined him as Dragonborn more than anything else. What did this mean? Who in Oblivion _was_ he, if he could not absorb a dragon's soul?

Liv felt his turmoil, understood what caused it, and stepped toward him without any forethought of what she was doing or would do, only pitying him as one might a wounded and frightened animal.

Miraak opened his eyes and nailed her with a chilling look that froze her in her tracks. Without a word, he threw the greatsword at Leif's feet and marched past the siblings, unwilling to be the target of her _pity_.

"Hey!" Leif shouted, starting after him. "Where the fuck—"

Liv caught his elbow, certain this would get ugly fast if she didn't. "Don't, Leif. Leave him be."

He turned to her, pulling his elbow free, staring at her in disbelief. "Why the fuck should I? That bastard attacked me from behind and threatened me with my own sword!"

"Just _don't_ , okay? I promise I'll deal with it later."

Leif stared, searched her face. Then he grimaced. "Talos's eyes, Liv, not five minutes ago you said you hated him. _Now_ you feel sorry for him? After everything he's done...what's wrong with you!?"

"Well, _excuse me_ for having a natural, human reaction to—"

"Hey!" a voice interrupted.

It was Ralof, jogging up to them with half his detachment of soldiers at his heels. The mix of male and female Stormcloaks headed him off and streamed by the siblings to go stare at the dragon's skeletal remains, muttering to each other in astonishment.

"So, you really _are_ Dragonborn," Ralof said as he halted before Liv and Leif, staring at the woman with wide eyes.

"What, you didn't believe it before?" Liv laughed.

"It's not that. It's just…to _see_ it with my own eyes…it was incredible! We all watched from a safe distance. We could have helped out, though; the archers in this rabble are among some of the best."

Liv shook her head. "Better that you didn't get involved. It was a powerful dragon, and you said yourself that your men are stretched thin as it is. No point in risking them."

Ralof acknowledged this with a nod. He looked past her at the dragon skeleton. "Your manservant killed it." His blue eyes came back to hers, confused, searching. "I don't understand. That dragon called him _Dovahkiin_ right before it attacked. Why would it do that?"

Liv tensed. _Crap. Of course he had to notice that._ "It was _mistaken_ ," she said, more harshly than she intended.

Although it was unlikely that anyone would believe Miraak was Dragonborn, given that he no longer had the characteristic abilities, Liv still couldn't stand the idea that someone _might._ Perhaps it was silly, but she felt like it would, in some way, be an invasion of her territory. Unlike _him_ , she had fulfilled her purpose, had _earned_ her prestige and a place among the heroes who bore the name of Dragonborn, through her own blood and tears and sacrifices. Damned if she was going to share her stage with the likes of him.

"But it knew him," Ralof pointed out. "It addressed him by his _name_."

 _And I mentioned him stealing my dragon souls earlier, too_ , Liv realized with an unpleasant jolt. But it seemed Ralof had missed that part of the argument, otherwise he would've mentioned it. A fortuitous thing. Liv had no idea how she would've lied her way out of that one.

"Who took the dragon's soul, Ralof?"

"You did."

Liv spread her hands out before her. "Well, there you have it. If that isn't proof, I don't know what is."

Ralof rubbed the back of his neck, still looking a little uncertain. "Uh, yeah…guess you got a point. The prophecy does say you're the _last_ Dragonborn. Wouldn't make sense for there to be another, right?"

Liv smiled pleasantly. "Right."

"Well, I had best get back to my post. By the way, that dragon scared off your horses."

Ralof took his leave of them, griping at his soldiers to stop eyeballing the dead dragon and get back on patrol, the town wasn't going to guard itself.

Liv glanced around to where the horses had been tied up near the inn. They were indeed gone; the posts they'd been tied to were snapped in half and their deep hoof prints in the snow trailed their flight from town. Such was to be expected, she supposed, when a dragon paid a visit. That didn't make it any less annoying, though. "Well, that's two thousand septims gone into the chamber pot."

"So, what now?" Leif asked, tugging back a hank of blonde hair that had come loose from its leather tie. "We still need to figure out what in Oblivion is going on here."

"That's what I was _trying_ to do before _someone_ stabbed my source of information through the brain," Liv groused.

"Huh?"

"The dragon. I thought it might have seen what happened here, so I was going to question it. But, uh, I _might_ have underestimated its hatred for Miraak; I thought mentioning the punishment Akatosh set on him might make it listen, but nope. Then I planned to beat it into submission to get answers, but _nope_." Liv sighed explosively. "That thrice-damned _idiot_."

Leif hoicked a brow. "You underestimated its hatred for a man who betrayed them all in the worst possible way? Wow."

Liv made a face. "Rarely, if _ever_ , do the gods interfere in any way with the lives of mortals, even their Chosen. The fact that Akatosh more or less used me to spare Miraak from certain death…" She shrugged. "I suppose that means he's _extra_ special, doesn't it? I thought the dragon would understand that and come to reason."

"Well, given the rarity of such an event, maybe it didn't believe you. It already seemed to think you were trying to deceive it."

"Always a possibility." Liv waved a hand, frowning. "Well, whatever. It's done now."

"You see things when you take their souls, right? Like their memories?"

Liv nodded, having a good idea where he was going with this. "I didn't see anything useful regarding Dawnstar. I did, however, learn a Word of Power I found in Apocrypha—the last Word of Dragon Aspect."

Leif bent over and grabbed up his greatsword, settling it into its sheath at his back. "So let's see it."

"Ha. No. 'Speak only in true need', Leif—Greybeard rule Number One."

"You're not a Greybeard."

"I'm not a jester or a bard, either," she shot back, sticking out her tongue playfully. "The Dragonborn performs for no one!"

Leif half-heartedly rolled his eyes and got back on point. "You know, we might try to find those hunters you mentioned prowling the Pale, see if they know anything about what happened here."

"That's not a bad idea." Liv clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. "And since it's _your_ idea, you get to do it all by yourself!"

Leif pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. "Why?"

"We'll get more done in less time that way. I still want to have a look at the guards' bodies and search the town a bit, and I think one of us should keep an eye on our troublemaker. You're not exactly a good candidate for that last task."

"And you are?" Leif said, putting on their father's tight, disapproving look.

Liv shrugged. "I'm less likely to kill him at the moment than you are."

"True, I guess," Leif grunted. "All right, just…for the love of Talos, _be careful_. I guess I'll go hunt me some hunters. Shouldn't take me more than an hour or two." He started away, got all of two steps, then paused to look back at her over his shoulder, his expression severe. "He's trying to pit us against each other, you see that, right?"

Liv scoffed. "And he'll _fail_ as he's failed at everything else. You are my _brother_ , Leif. The only family I have, the only person in this world I trust. All the Daedric Princes in Oblivion couldn't come between us."

Leif smiled, nodded, and then headed off up the path out of town.

* * *

Liv began her own investigation at the guards' barracks. She found the three guardsmen's bodies had been lain out on tables, covered respectfully with fur blankets. It was as Ralof had said. All three showed the marks of being hit by a strong shock spell: concentrated burns in the flesh as opposed to the widespread damage of a fire spell. The burns would not have killed them of course, but the shocking energy of the spell would have overwhelmed the organs, frying the brain and bursting the heart. There was fresh bruising on the bodies, here and there, and an abrasion or three. She also saw the Dwarven bolt wounds Ralof had mentioned, marring the shoulders on two of the bodies and the knee of the other.

Liv found the bolts on another table nearby, the tips and half of the shafts crusted with dried blood. She noticed at once they weren't typical crossbow bolts; the shafts were far too short and the bolt heads too small. But they were familiar, the exact kind of bolts equipped with the Dwarven Sphere's miniature crossbow.

 _Interesting._

Liv pocketed a bolt in her robe to show Leif later, muttered a prayer for the departed, and then left the barracks to begin her search of the town.

Unfortunately, she didn't find anything else of much interest. She used Aura Whisper, curious if it would reveal any possible life forces in town (who knows, maybe one of the townspeople was hiding somewhere, too afraid to come out), but the only red blips that popped up were the Stormcloaks, easily distinguishable by their simple but uniform patrol routes.

The homes and shops that had been forced into were mostly untouched, as Ulfric had claimed. There were some signs of struggle—toppled furniture, a spot or two of blood—but none of the expensive-looking belongings had been taken. _Nothing_ had been taken, from what she had been able to tell.

 _Nothing missing but the people,_ Liv thought as she now wandered the thoroughfare edging around the harbor, finished with searching the town. _Why? And who took them? The Falmer? That seems unlikely._ She reached into her robe and pulled out the bolt, twirling it thoughtfully between her fingers. _And this—this seems unlikely, as well. How does Dwarven Sphere bolts end up in three guards, when those things can't leave the ruins? Is there another staff like mine that can summon them? Or did someone find a way to activate them outside the ruins? Damn Dwemer and their strange, mysterious contraptions._

Shaking her head in frustration, Liv stuffed the bolt back inside her pocket. Perhaps Leif would have better luck with the hunters, if he found any. He hadn't returned yet. Whether that was a good or bad sign, she didn't know. Maybe he was still looking for them or talking with them. She wasn't really worried about his well-being; if any more dragons showed up, they'd come for her or Miraak, not him, and the only other really dangerous thing in the Pale was the occasional giant, of which Leif had killed plenty on his own before.

Well, in the meantime, Liv supposed she should find the other man. She hadn't seen hide or hair of him in town for over an hour. Akatosh only knew what he could've gotten up to in that amount of time, especially with that mood he'd been in.

It didn't take Liv long to locate him. Aura Whisper picked up a life force just outside of town, and that's where she found Miraak, sitting on a giant log of driftwood on the shore and radiating a gloom she could feel before she even approached him.

"Ah, so here you are, away from civilization," Liv said by way of announcing her presence. "You know, after all that time in Apocrypha, I'd think you'd be sick of isolation."

The man said nothing as he sat there, hands curled tight on his knees, staring pensively out at the expanse of sullen seawater.

If not for the depth of that grief coming off him, Liv would've thought Miraak was intentionally ignoring her again. It was odd to see him so…subdued, and Liv suddenly felt guilty. It seemed inappropriate somehow for her to be witness to this, almost like she was taking a peek at him while he was in a state of undress.

Liv clasped her hands behind her back and cleared her throat before speaking, "Have you considered the possibility that I've gotten stronger than you at claiming dragon souls, that you couldn't absorb it because _I_ stole it from _you_ this time?" A dumb question; of course the egomaniac hadn't considered that. But she couldn't think of anything else to say.

Miraak continued to stare out at the water, flat-eyed and stone-faced. "Don't be absurd," he said. "The Daedric Lords will fall before you ever surpass the strength of power that I achieved."

And _there_ was the impudent and conceited arsehole she knew and hated. Oh, good; she'd started to get a little worried there for a second. "Okay, I'm going to let that go because I know you're feeling—"

Miraak was suddenly on his feet and in front of her, standing within good throttling range. He didn't even remember moving. "No. You don't have the slightest _inkling_ of what I'm feeling!"

 _I really wish I didn't ,_ Liv thought. That she could on occasion feel what he felt was something she didn't much care for; in fact, it was one of her most unpleasant experiences to date. Best to keep her lip buttoned about it, though; Liv had a feeling he'd appreciate this inconvenient development even less than she did.

"All right," Liv said calmly, digging the toe of her boot through the sand. "So you want an ear?"

Miraak stared, his brow furrowed in confusion. Did he want an _ear_? What in Oblivion…? "I don't understand you."

Liv sighed. "You know, an ear—as in the phrase 'lend an ear'. I'm offering to stand here and listen and nod sympathetically at the right moments while you vent out your feelings."

Now he was doubly confused. While this had all the makings of one of her asinine jests, Miraak sensed no humor, nothing amiss. It seemed a genuine offer, and an odd one given their adversarial relation. But then this creature was nothing if not odd.

"And why would you do that?" Miraak demanded, still looking at her but only now becoming aware of the freckles scattered over her high cheekbones and dainty nose, the full, up-curved lips, the fact that she was very attractive. He didn't know why he was only noticing this _now_ , but he didn't hesitate to banish the thought. Whether or not she was beautiful was irrelevant. She was the _enemy_ above all else.

"Just trying to help," Liv replied to the question, seemingly unaware of how he looked her over. Thank the gods for small mercies. "And you know what they say: it's better to let it all out than to keep it all in."

She was just trying to _help?_ Perhaps she was. Perhaps she thought it was what Akatosh wanted her to do; that seemed to make the most sense. Miraak might have laughed at her foolishness had he been in a better mood.

But this might work in his favor. Allow her to 'help' him, and at the least, he might mislead her into thinking he was starting to show her some level of trust, and in doing so, perhaps he could gain some of hers in return.

"What you are suggesting is pointless," he said, feigning a reluctant tone with just a hint of scorn for flavoring. "'Venting my feelings' will change nothing."

"It won't bring back your power, no, but it might clear up those gloomy clouds hanging about your head. That's the _point,_ you know. _"_

His pride clamored against it, insisting it would make him seem weak, but Miraak ignored it. Regrettably, that ship had already sailed. The woman wouldn't have come here offering her ear if he hadn't made his weakness, the distress, glaringly obvious. There was no point holding back. In fact, the truth would only make his gambit seem all the more like a genuine act of trust.

"I feel…angry, betrayed, lost, _overwhelmed_ ," he finally said. "I simply cannot comprehend this, what's happening to me, why it's happening. I never imagined..." He shook his head and made a frustrated noise that was far from phony. "I can't even absorb their souls anymore. Who am I, without that power and the power to Shout?"

"Hmm," Liv uttered, squinting thoughtfully. "Now that's an interesting question. I'm curious—what was your name before the dragons gave you theirs?"

Miraak frowned, caught off guard by the question. As far as he could remember, no one had ever asked him that before. Regardless, what in _Oblivion_ did his given name have to do with anything? "What does it matter?"

"Do you even remember it? Or is it lost now, buried under the Dragon Priest name and the Dragonborn power?"

"If there is a point to these questions, _get_ to it," Miraak snapped impatiently. For some reason he couldn't quite figure out, he disliked these inquiries.

"Well, you define yourself as Dragonborn, by the power that comes with being one, right?"

"Of course. Why shouldn't I? That is who I am." _Was_ , a small, traitorous voice in his head amended, and he clenched his jaw, fighting back the growl of outrage that wanted to come out.

Liv shook her head. "But it's not the _only_ thing you are—a fact that you've apparently forgotten in your arrogance."

Miraak scoffed at that. "It is the only thing that matters. Anything else is irrelevant."

"Ah, now see, that's where you're wrong," Liv said, pointing a finger at him. "Because if you defined yourself as more than just 'Miraak, the all-powerful First Dragonborn', you would still have some idea of who you are without that power, wouldn't you?"

Miraak stared at her, opened his mouth for a rebuttal, and then realized he didn't have one. _Again_ he found himself cornered by her logic. _Damn the woman._

"That was why I asked about your name," Liv went on. "You identify yourself as Dragonborn, but there's more to you than just that. So maybe there's another reason for all this: to remember the parts of yourself you've forgotten or maybe discover what you didn't know was there." She grinned. "Probably won't be as prestigious as being Dragonborn, but that doesn't mean it's not important. People are like puzzles, different pieces that fit together to make a whole. Every piece, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, is _relevant_."

Miraak didn't respond. The woman was clearly trying to convince him that his situation went beyond punishment and condemnation, but he was far from convinced.

"So, what was it?" the woman asked.

"What?"

"Your birth name. I think I should start addressing you by it; that seems more appropriate now than the Dragon Priest name."

Miraak scowled at her. "No."

"'No', you don't want me calling you by it? Or 'no', you're not going to tell me?"

" _Both_."

"Wow, is it _that_ bad?" she laughed, pale eyes radiant with mirth. "Is it one of those embarrassing names that rhyme with or sounds similar to something crude? You know, like how the name Jorunn sort of sounds like urine or Remus sort of rhymes with pen—"

"You are a pest."

"Or is it—gods _forbid_ —a common name like Erik or Sven? Something totally unassuming and unthreatening? I could see you being embarrassed by that."

"A _profoundly_ unbearable pest."

"Come on, I wanna know. If you don't want me calling you by it, then I won't." Liv shot up her hand and made the pledging gesture. "I swear it on Akatosh's wings."

"Why do you wish to know so badly?"

Liv shrugged. "I'm beset by a curious nature; I find all manner of things interesting."

"Indeed," Miraak said with skeptical tones. Oh, he didn't doubt her curious nature, only that it was the sole reason why she was torturing him for his name—his _nonexistent_ name. "Very well, if it will get you to shut—"

"Gods, _finally_. I don't know why you have to make things so difficult."

Because Miraak knew it irritated her. Why else? "Your efforts were for naught, I'm afraid. I have no given name. Or if I did have one, I never knew what it was."

Liv frowned, taken aback. "How is that possible? Surely your parents named you!"

Miraak shrugged. "Perhaps, perhaps not. I never knew them." That was mostly true, but not the _entire_ truth. Aside from a vague memory from his early childhood of a woman holding him in her lap, who was dark-haired and turquoise-eyed like him and might have been his mother, he remembered nothing of his parents. That memory was the earliest one he could recall and always put a warm, pleasant feeling in his belly despite knowing little to nothing of the woman in it, but he had never shared it with anyone and he wasn't about to start now, let alone with _her_.

"At all?" she asked.

"That is typically what one means by 'never'," he retorted testily.

"But someone must've raised you."

"Yes."

Liv arched her brows, waiting for him to elucidate, but received only silence. Frowning, she pressed at him. " _Well_?"

Miraak's expression was unyielding as he folded his arms at his chest. "I have nothing further to say about it."

Liv glowered at him with outrage. "You can't pique my curiosity like that and then just shut down!"

"I can and am. You asked about my name and I answered out of _courtesy_. I'm not obligated to satisfy your curiosity."

"…You're a big horse's arse," Liv shot back childishly. " _Fine_. Just as well. There's something else we need to discuss, anyway."

"Of course. Our discourse has been so _delightful_ thus far, I see no reason why we should not prolong it," Miraak replied with heavy sarcasm, then waved a hand in an impatient _get on with it_ gesture.

"We need to lay down some more ground rules," Liv informed. "I specifically told you to do something earlier, you _completely_ disregarded it, and that possibly cost me some valuable information."

"Did I? Odd. I don't recall any of this."

"Liar," Liv said. "I told you to stay put for a reason. I intended to question that dragon, and then you had to go be an unruly arse and kill it. It might have known something about what happened in Dawnstar."

Miraak scowled. " _You_ failed to mention what your intentions were. Do you expect me to read your mind?"

"No, I expect you to _listen_. It's not that hard."

"You had countless opportunities to question it before I even got involved, all of which you squandered by failing to utilize the Bend Will Shout. Do not blame _your_ incompetence on me."

Liv bristled. "Incompetence? That's rich, coming from the _failed_ Dragonborn! Unlike you, I don't have to rob them of their will to get them to do what I want."

"Yes, _clearly_ ," Miraak sneered. "If your approach is so much more effective than mine, you would have your answers, yes? But seeing as how you _don't_ …"

"Because you interfered!" Liv pinched the bridge of her nose and _groaned_. "Look, all I'm asking is that you _listen_ to me. Not all the time, but occasionally, when it's _important_."

"And how shall I determine when it's important, seeing as how you have a habit of neglecting to explain your intentions? I think I'm beginning to understand now why your sibling questions everything you do. He literally has no idea what you are doing."

"I'll _tell_ you when it's important!" Liv yelled, face twisted in anger, hands balled into tight fists. She was _this_ close to kicking him in his dangly bits.

One could not tell simply by looking at him, but Miraak was enjoying this. "Very good, Dragonborn. That wasn't so hard now, was it? I will comply with your terms…on one condition."

Liv laughed mirthlessly. "You're in absolutely _no_ position to bargain with me, Miraak. I don't think I need to remind you what's at stake if you don't comply."

Oh, Miraak knew very well what she was alluding to, and decided to call her bluff. "You may or may not be able to aid me in regaining my power, but you have already proven that you are willing to try with or without my cooperation. You believe it's what Akatosh would want, yes? And you cannot bear the idea of disappointing Him." He scoffed, unable to keep his disdain out of the conversation. "You needn't worry. You've proven to be little more than an obedient tool, just as He expects of the Dragonborn."

Liv's lips curled in a vicious grin. "So says the man who gave himself to a Daedric Prince in exchange for power, which makes him little more than a _whore_. At least I managed to accomplish something great, something I'll be remembered for. What did all your service to Hermaeus Mora get you, Miraak? I mean besides power you barely put to use, imprisonment in Oblivion and almost certain death? If I'm an obedient tool, then you are a _waste_."

Miraak curled his fingers into fists and _willed_ himself to ignore that. "Allow me a weapon of my own choosing and I will give you my full cooperation." His voice was strained and tight, betraying his anger.

"No. We've been over this already." Liv narrowed her eyes. "You will earn your weapon or you will not; the terms are non-negotiable, but the choice is yours."

The pressure in Miraak's chest, growing with his mounting fury, was near to bursting now. There was no choice; he could only defend himself so far with his fists and depending on her to protect him was not an option. He had to do this her way. Gods, he hated it, this lack of control. He hated it with his whole being.

"So be it," Miraak growled.

He was about to be a whole lot angrier. Now that all this business was out of the way, the only thing that remained was the little matter regarding the promise Liv had made to Leif earlier; oh no, she hadn't forgotten about that.

"Oh, and one other thing..."

That was the only warning he got, which, to be fair, wasn't much of a warning at all. With a blast of Unrelenting Force, Liv flung Miraak back across the shore and into the surf, where he made quite a splash.

Despite being utterly taken by surprise, Miraak was quick to haul himself to his feet, soaked from head to heel. For a moment, he merely stood there, staring down at his wet self in disbelief. Disbelief quickly gave way to rage.

" _You_..!" Miraak snarled at the woman as he stormed out of the water. "You will _pay_ for that!"

Liv raised a brow and held out a hand, summoning a bit of lightning to it. " _Really_? Have you ever seen what a high level shock spell does to a wet person?" She sucked in a breath through her teeth and shook her head. "It's _very_ unpleasant."

She might as well have not even bothered.

Miraak still came on, heedless of the threat, his face and eyes showing nothing but his unbending fury and resolve. Somewhere under that hot wave of anger, he knew acting on the emotion was a step in the wrong direction, could even undo any progress he'd made to get on her good side, but in the moment he didn't care. _No one_ attacked him and got away with it!

But Liv wasn't backing down either—not completely, anyway. She had no intention of killing the idiot, but she had to prove she still meant business, that he couldn't just attack her brother and think he could get away with it.

Instead of casting Lightning Bolt as she'd originally intended, she chose to dual cast Sparks instead; the water soaking him would amplify the weaker spell just enough to be excruciating but non-lethal. Liv pushed her hands out, little streaks of crackling blue energy surging out from her fingers and palms. "I warned you about attacking my brother!"

The shock spell struck him in the chest dead center, but the bastard merely gritted his teeth against the discomfort and kept coming.

Liv's eyes widened. _Shit. Why did I think that would work? Should've just stuck with Lightning Bolt._

She quickly summoned the stronger spell, but Miraak was already upon her, the back of his hand coming down on her face with such force she staggered to the side. Stunned, Liv stood still as a statue, face turned away from him, hand pressed against her painfully reddened cheek.

"That is the _last_ time you attack me," he told her, his voice lowered to a dangerous growl.

How wrong he was.

Now in the grips of a cold rage, Liv conjured a bound sword without thinking and took a wild, backhanded swipe at him with it, letting out a snarl that sounded more animal than human. Had Miraak not felt the sudden intensity of her rage and sensed the attack coming, he would have taken the full brunt of it. His quick reflexes got him out of the range of impact, but the tip of the otherworldly blade still managed to catch the sleeve of his robe.

Liv stared in angry confusion as the cut in the ancient fabric instantly glowed with a faint, sickly green light, and then a startling burst of oily black erupted between them, covering Liv in half a dozen little slimy black tendrils. This was going _great._

"Gah!" Liv yelped, stumbling back, bound blade gone to free up her hands so she could beat wildly at the disgusting things as they curled around her limbs and squirmed over her body. " _Gross_! Get them off!"

Although his face betrayed nothing of it, Miraak couldn't remember the last time something had struck him as this amusing. Just wait til she found out they were poisoned. "You brought this on yourself," he told her.

" _I hate you!_ " Liv roared as she tore off one of the tendrils and threw it at him, aiming for his face.

It didn't get anywhere near his face. Miraak's gaze followed the squirming thing as it plopped down in front of him. Then he gave a taunting scoff. "Pathetic."

"Arrggghh!"

Liv continued to struggle with pulling the disgusting things off her person as they squirmed and slipped through her grasp like oiled eels. She wished now that she had bothered to learn Flame Cloak; the mantling fire would've probably burned the tendrils off without her having to _touch_ them.

"What in Oblivion _was_ that!?" Liv demanded, roughly flinging away the last one. "The goddamn things came out of your robe!"

Miraak shrugged. "I suppose that answers your question, then." Whatever anger he had felt moments ago was gone now. Nothing was as soothing as seeing one's nemesis get their deserved comeuppance.

"An _enchantment_? That's just sick and unnatural!"

Miraak said nothing.

Liv grimaced and rubbed a hand over her belly. It felt queasy in there, like those things were swimming and wiggling around in her guts now. Her skin felt clammy and tingly. "Ugh, and now _I_ feel sick."

"I imagine you should." The corners of his mouth twitched with something that might have been a smile. "They were poisoned, after all."

"W- _what_ …?" Liv sputtered. Well, of course they were. Her face curdled with renewed anger. "Fuck you!"

Quickly because the situation in her belly was getting hairy fast, she threw open the flap of her knapsack and rummaged around inside for a potion; she always carried quite a few curative draughts on her because Skyrim's wildlife tended to carry quite a few diseases and its ruins had quite a few poisoned traps. Liv found the vial with the correct label, popped the cork with her teeth, spat it out, and downed the bitter-tasting liquid in one go. As soon as it was down, however, it came right back up. She barely avoided barfing on her boots. She had half a mind to barf on _his_ , the fucking arsehole.

"Perhaps now you will think twice about attacking me."

Liv might have nailed him with a glare if she had the courage to even look at him right now. Vomiting in front of people always embarrassed her, and it certainly didn't help that this person just happened to be an adversary who no doubt _enjoyed_ her pain and humiliation. "I was defending my brother! You attacked him from behind and threatened him with his own damn weapon!"

Miraak raised his brows. "I would hardly consider knocking him down an _attack_. He came to no harm when he easily could have. I see no reason why you felt you needed to defend him."

"…That's not the point! You _threatened_ him!"

"He could have avoided the threat had he been paying attention to his surroundings."

"Are you seriously putting this on _him_?" Liv laughed without humor and threw her hands in the air. "Well, of course you are! Always the big fucking _man-child_ incapable of taking responsibility for his actions!"

"I am merely stating a fact, Dragonborn," Miraak said calmly, despite the anger swelling in his chest again. "One you are apparently incapable of seeing for yourself. He was not paying attention because he was more concerned about what _you_ were doing. Had it been someone who intended to do actual harm, he would have been unprepared for it. He would be _dead_ , and your back would have been left open to attack. Perhaps you should consider if he is truly fit to watch it."

Liv narrowed her eyes dangerously. "You're not _nearly_ as clever as you think you are, Miraak, but go ahead and keep playing your little games with us. Keep digging yourself deeper into this hole you're already in. And when you're _buried_ in it, maybe you'll finally realize that your true enemy has only ever been yourself."

And then she turned away and ruined a perfectly good lecture by vomiting again. Just as well. Liv doubted the proud, stubborn oaf would ever accept that he was the root of his own disgrace.

It was a silent and awkward walk back to town together, in which Miraak's soaked boots made undignified squelching sounds and Liv downed potion after potion and struggled to keep them down, to say nothing of the heavy tension between them.

They found Ralof standing outside the Iron-Breaker mine with a pair of Stormcloak soldiers, the three of them speaking to each other in low tones. Liv couldn't see Ralof's face because he was turned away, but she could see the soldiers, a clean-shaven blonde in his mid-twenties and a bearded ginger who looked a little older. Both wore grim expressions. It seemed something had happened in her absence.

"What's going on?" Liv asked, as she and the other Dragonborn approached them.

Ralof turned at her voice, his eyes passing over Miraak before settling on Liv. He frowned at her appearance. "Are you unwell? You look a little...green."

"Ugh, don't remind me," Liv said, pressing a hand over her belly. It was taking those potions _way_ too long to kick in. "I'll be okay. Did something happen?"

Ralof's face became grim. "They found something inside the mine."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Sorry this took so long, but between life and my other writing projects I just didn't have time to get it out sooner. Also, I was doing a bit of revising to this story and might have gotten carried away with it. No major changes to the plot, so no need to reread it from the beginning. I would recommend reading the last chapter, though, as I added a scene that might be mentioned later on. Sorry for any inconvenience and this shorter than usual chapter. I just really wanted to get something out without sacrificing the quality of my writing, whatever that amounts to.

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

* * *

 **The** first thing Liv noticed when the four of them entered the mine was the faint but familiar odor wafting up the main tunnel to greet them: that distinctive sweet-sour smell of rotting flesh.

One of the two Stormcloaks who had explored the mine earlier—a red-bearded, sizable man armed with a battleaxe, who called himself Sigvir—led them down the sloping entrance shaft, holding a burning torch out in front of him to light the way ahead. The others followed closely behind, Liv walking between and slightly ahead of Ralof and Miraak. Sigvir's younger fair-haired comrade was not among them, having been ordered by Ralof to relieve another soldier on sentry duty.

At the bottom of the shaft the group came to a junction dimly-lit by lanterns suspended from the reinforcing wood beams overhead. To their left was a carved-out section of wall, where there had once been an abundance of iron ore veins now mined to depletion. In front of them a wide passage led further into the belly of the mine, and on their right was another tunnel that had long ago collapsed in on itself. Just in front of it, lying on the ground, there was a corpse and a pile of golden brass scrap metal that had once been a Dwarven Sphere.

Liv paused before the dead body and battered contraption, staring down at them in dismay, and uttered a very unladylike curse. "Tsun's swinging _cock_."

She shouldn't have been surprised, really; Ralof's grim expression earlier had been hint enough that whatever his men found in the mine was not good. Nonetheless, she had hoped—perhaps naively—that they were not going to find the body of one of Dawnstar's citizens.

The deceased's name was Karl, one of the town's many miners with whom Liv had engaged in conversation a few times in the past and fought alongside once.

Liv felt the prickle of emerging tears, the grief swelling in her throat, and shut her eyes for a moment to gather herself. _Grief is selfishness, for we grieve for ourselves, the loss we have suffered, and in doing so, we dishonor the memory of the dead._ It was one of her father's many maxims, and the one Liv had been reciting to herself hundreds if not thousands of times since the death of her husband. In this case, though, the grief she felt was not only selfish but also excessive, an overreaction to the death of someone she hardly even knew. Her father would have been ashamed at her unnecessary sensitivity.

Stuffing down the sadness where it belonged, Liv opened her eyes and knelt down beside the body, looking it over with clinical detachment. The flesh was waxy-looking and bluish-white, and several slashes and gashes were carved into it, the largest of which opened the chest from collarbone to diaphragm. Many a feathered bolt shaft stuck out of the torso like pins from a cushion and beneath the body there was a large pool of congealed blood. The odious smell of rot coming from the body was strong but not overpowering. Liv knew this was because the air inside the mine was cold enough to have slowed the progression of decay.

 _He died fighting at least, and took the contraption down with him_ , she mused, taking note of the pickaxe clutched in the rigid right hand. Then, reaching out, she closed the staring, sightless eyes and muttered a prayer, although Karl was probably in Sovngarde by now. He had certainly earned the right to be there.

"You knew him," Ralof said, his voice softer than usual. It wasn't a question.

"I have some familiarity with most of Dawnstar's people," Liv replied. "His name was Karl, one of the local miners." She let out a long sigh, a hint of irritation in the breath. "Could you please explain to me how Ulfric's scout managed to miss _this_ in her search of the town?"

Although the question had been meant for Ralof, it was Miraak who provided an answer, and with a tone that implied said answer should have been obvious: "Incompetence."

Ralof frowned at him, but directed his response to Liv. "She would have only done a quick sweep of the town to confirm the missing people, checking a few homes and shops mostly, not a thorough search. Our scouts have been taking on a lot lately; most have several assignments at once, and that puts them under extreme time constraints. It's not…efficient, but it's the best we can manage with a shortage on manpower."

Of course it was a shortage on manpower; it was _always_ a shortage on manpower. Liv had lost count of how many times she'd heard the 'we don't have enough men' spiel to excuse Jarl Ulfric neglecting some problem or other he couldn't be bothered with, but perhaps there was some merit to it this time. She didn't think the man would've sent his scout to do a half-arsed job if he'd had the choice. She had sensed genuine concern in him for the missing people, probably because most of them were Nords.

 _If they'd been anyone else_ _though he wouldn't have blinked an eye at their plight,_ Liv thought as she pulled one of the crossbow bolts from the body then held it up for the others to see.

"Dwarven metal for the bolt heads, just like the ones found in the three guardsmen," Ralof observed.

"Aye." Liv pointed out a length of metal among the pile of damaged Sphere parts. It was about as long and thick around as a man's arm, carved with intricate geometrical designs, with a small crossbow attached to one end of it. "Shot from that; most Dwarven Spheres come equipped with one. But it looks like the attached blade on the other arm is what killed Karl."

"I remember hearing somewhere that these devices stop working once they're taken outside those old Dwemer ruins." Ralof motioned a hand at the defeated Sphere. "That doesn't seem to be the case with this one."

"Or maybe this was a _summoned_ Sphere, rather than one from the ruins," Liv said, still keeping that possibility on the table.

Ralof looked surprised. "Summoned? Like with magic? That's possible with these things?"

"A lot of things are possible with magic, and the Dwemer were advanced in their use of it, even if they didn't rely on it as much as the other mer races."

"The Dwarven clans of Skyrim and much of western Tamriel constructed their automata to deactivate when removed from their strongholds," Miraak informed, eying the dead contraption with quiet interest. "It was a security measure, but with the appropriate tools and knowledge one could bypass it to make the automata perform other tasks."

Liv squinted at him uncertainly. While that seemed like a probable explanation, she still wasn't sure she could trust that information. Up to this point he had been nothing but uncooperative and resentful, so the fact that he had just imparted potentially helpful information without being asked, threatened, or otherwise prompted was highly suspicious.

"How do you know that?" she demanded. "Or is this some lie you just made up to sabotage my progress in this investigation?"

Miraak looked bored at the accusation, as if having allegations thrown at him had become a tedious but unavoidable part of his life. "If it was my intent to sabotage you, I can certainly think of a more proficient way of doing it than feeding you false information."

"You'll forgive me if I'm not reassured."

"I wasn't trying to reassure you. I was merely stating the truth."

"How do you know anything about Dwarven technology?" Liv asked again, trying very hard to be patient. "Were you studying it or something in your… _spare time_?" Putting a lot of emphasis on those last two words.

Miraak provided a vague answer while casually mocking her, "I've studied—or _something_ —a great many things." He had never been fond of the Dwemer, but their technology fascinated him nonetheless. Not that that was any of _her_ business.

"And you didn't think it was prudent to mention this information before, when Leif and I were discussing the very issue back at Winter Hall?" She sounded somewhat annoyed, now.

Miraak shrugged. "It wasn't relevant at the time." He straightened his back, rising to full height to better stare down his nose at her. "And to rectify a misconception on your part, I'm not compelled to share with you any information I may have. I'm only doing so now as a courtesy."

"Right, because you're _such_ a well-mannered person," Liv said sarcastically. "Mister goddamned _Chivalrous_ , who, incidentally, likes to throttle and hit innocent women when he's having a bad day."

So much for being patient.

Miraak promptly made her regret her impertinence. "You are hardly innocent, considering how often you attempt to provoke me. But I suppose I should not be surprised that you would believe you are, given your holier-than-thou manner. I wonder if the Skaal would share your high opinion of yourself if they knew how you _betrayed_ them."

Liv leapt up from where she knelt, hands curling into fists, looking very much like she wanted to Shout him right back to Oblivion. "That was different!"

A corner of his mouth twitched with amusement. "Of course it was. You were only playing your role as the saintly heroine acting in Akatosh's interest, so betraying them was perfectly excusable."

Liv's eyes were pale blue fire, the pupils narrowed to slits. Her fists shook with her rage. "Fuck. You."

Miraak cracked a full-blown grin, something Liv had never seen him do until now. She might have found it attractive if she weren't so enraged and currently picturing herself ripping his damn throat out. "It's a wonder you don't get dizzy, looking down on everyone else from that high, sanctimonious pedestal you've placed yourself on."

Liv said nothing, _refused_ to give him the satisfaction of a response.

A moment of uncomfortable silence followed, in which the pair of Dragonborn stared at each other, one with murderous eyes and the other looking smug, and Ralof and Sigvir watched in confusion, unsure what the hell _that_ was all about.

It was Sigvir who eventually broke the silence, clearing his throat noisily. "Well. Uh. Back to the matter at hand, then."

"Aye," Ralof said pointedly. "Back to the matter at hand."

"It seems this man fled down here," Sigvir went on, motioning to the body sprawled on the rough ground. "And the automaton followed him, cornered him."

Liv turned away from Miraak, looked at Sigvir, and shook her head. "No. Karl was miserable and a drunk, but he wasn't a coward. He once fought alongside me and some guardsmen when a dragon attacked the town." She smiled fondly, though it was partly forced. "Armed with nothing but a pickaxe."

"You sure he wasn't drunk at the time?" Sigvir chuckled, graciously trying to ease what tension remained. "Sounds like something Ralof would do in his cups." He looked at his commanding officer with a grin. "Remember the frost troll?"

Ralof gave him a look of warning. "Never mind the frost troll, Sigvir."

Liv glanced between them, sensing there was a story here that could be potentially embarrassing for Ralof and amusing for everyone else. But… "Aye, the tale of Drunk Ralof and the Frost Troll can wait. But when we get a spare moment, Sigvir, I'd be _very_ interested in hearing it."

"Of course," Sigvir said innocently. "Considering all you have done for us, Dragonborn, it's the very least I can do for you."

The glare Ralof now directed at Sigvir promised a sentence of latrine duty in the man's not-so-distant future.

"As for Karl," Liv said, moving on. "Anyone who can face a dragon with only a pickaxe can face anything. He must have been down here for some other reason." She looked at Sigvir. "I assume you explored the whole mine. You found nothing else?"

The man shrugged. "Some blood." He gestured at dearly departed Karl. "Figured it was his."

"Where? Show me."

Sigvir did so, taking Liv and the other two down the central passage that led deeper into the mine. Perhaps a fifty feet in, Sigvir knelt down on one knee and held his torch over a few dark spots on the stony ground—the blood he'd mentioned. As they traversed further into the tunnel, they found more blood in larger drops, trailing a few feet and then stopping. To their right, there was a barrel with a bloody handprint on top of it.

Looking at it, Liv felt her heart sink and a new knot of grief forming in her throat. "There's a handprint on this barrel," she told the others. "In blood." Liv reached out and placed her hand over the gruesome print, the blood having dried long ago. "It's so small, smaller than mine." Which could only mean…

"A child," Ralof said from beside her, a grim look settling into his normally sunny features.

Sigvir looked stricken, his hand gripping the crown of his shaved head. " _Shit_. I…didn't see that before. I missed it." Frustration in his voice, and something else—guilt, Liv sensed.

She looked at him sympathetically, but said nothing.

"Perhaps it was the youngling who fled down here and was cornered by the automaton," Ralof said, looking at the Dragonborn. "And your friend followed or found them here, tried to protect the child."

"Makes sense…" Liv paused and looked around the tunnel, thinking. "If I was Karl, I would've told the child to run, find a place to hide."

There were a few hiding spots suitable for a youngling; barrels lining the right hand wall and crowding a far corner at the end of the tunnel, which one could hide inside or behind, and a table pushed up against the left wall, which one could duck under. Perhaps not the _best_ hiding spots, but so long as the child had remained quiet and still, they would have been fine. Spheres were motion-detecting like most Dwarven Animunculi, but they didn't seem to have any 'search for hidden foes' capability.

 _It's not supposed to work outside the ruins, either_ , _but it did,_ Liv mused. _And if Miraak_ was _telling the truth, then isn't it possible that it could have been given this new task? Are these contraptions even capable of performing such an advanced feat as searching out the hidden?_

She just didn't know, and while the other Dragonborn _seemed_ to know something about the matter, he wasn't exactly reliable. All she could do was operate on what she _did_ know.

Liv went on, "The child was obviously injured, and would've been afraid, terrified even." She closed her eyes, trying to picture the scene, to put herself in the child's shoes and think how a child would think. "If I'm the child, I wouldn't have been able to see anything from my hiding spot—there's no straight line of sight from here to where Karl's body is— but I would've _heard_ Karl fighting the Sphere. The din of metal striking metal, Karl grunting with effort, perhaps even yelling for me not to come out. Then silence. I would've been too afraid to move, to come out. I'd wait for Karl to come for me because that's the safest thing to do, except he _wasn't_ coming. Why? What was taking so long? Where _was_ he?...

"More silence, _too_ quiet. I would've known something was wrong then. Karl was hurt, or worse, dead, and if Karl was dead then that meant the Sphere won and was still there. Waiting for me to come out. But if I come out it'll kill me, I _know_ it will. I can't leave my hiding spot, I have to wait…maybe it'll go away…"

Liv's eyes snapped open wide. The trio of men standing nearby was giving her varying looks of surprise, but she wasn't seeing them. The child was still here; he—aye, definitely a he; she remembered there was only one child in all of Dawnstar, a little orphaned boy of ten years—had stayed hidden for fear the Sphere was still there, waiting, not realizing Karl had taken it down with him. She was sure of it, felt it in her gut.

" _Laas_."

That one Word of Power was weak, but it was enough, giving her a brief glimpse of a small, faint red-glowing life force in or behind the barrels that were crammed into a shadowy corner at the end of the tunnel. _Very_ faint, which explained why she hadn't seen it earlier when she'd used Aura Whisper in town. That the red glow was so weak meant only one thing: the child was close to death.

Liv broke into a run and damn near threw herself upon the barrels when she reached them. She ripped open the lid on one, looking inside. Nothing but heads of lettuce, most of them shriveled and beginning to rot. Then she saw him, behind the barrels, curled up on the ground, unmoving.

Liv shoved the barrel out of the way. It landed on its side and rolled, spilling the withered heads of lettuce across the ground. In his rush to help, Ralof almost slipped on one and accidentally kicked another into Liv's legs. She didn't notice. Together, the pair moved the other barrels away, revealing the small boy, scabby knees pulled up near to his chest, arms wrapped limply around his midsection.

Liv conjured Candlelight to see better, the little ball of light drifting up from her palm to settle in place above her head. The child was still breathing but unconscious; Liv could now see the weak rise and fall of his torso. There was a small pool of dried blood near his side and some smears on the ground around him, on his skin and torn clothes. His lips were a purplish-blue, his dark bronze skin gone ashen; from being exposed to the cold too long was Liv's guess, as he hadn't lost that much blood. The boy was of Redguard stock; he did not have the inborn resistance to Skyrim's frigid weather like her Nord children.

"Alesan." The boy's name was a pitiful whisper from Liv's lips, memories of him bombarding her mind. He was always running around Dawnstar on various errands in exchange for food and permission to sleep on the floor of the Windpeak Inn at night. Out of compassion, Liv had given him coin whenever she and her brother were in town, although Leif always insisted she was enabling him more than she was helping him. Seeing as how he was a child working his arse off just to survive, Liv insisted he deserved a break every once in a while, to _be_ a child.

It also seemed Alesan was likely the only witness to what happened to Dawnstar's people, which made him all the more important.

Hands moving swiftly, Liv untied the belt of her white robe and shed the garment. Beneath it she wore a simple brown leather vest with matching trousers, clothes that allowed for quicker, unrestrictive movement, unlike the heavier leathers and furs.

She knelt beside the unconscious boy and pressed two fingers against the underside of his jaw, measuring the slow thumps of his pulse. She then looked him over for wounds. Aside from a nasty gash under his ribs and some bruises, he was untouched. The healing would have to wait, however; they weren't life-threatening wounds and Liv wanted to get him warm first.

Liv began to spread her robe on the ground. Ralof understood what she meant to do and started to kneel down to help her move the child, but then a sound came from somewhere outside, muted but unmistakable: the drawn-out howl of a warhorn. It was followed by a clamor of raised voices and the ring of metal on metal.

Ralof launched back to his feet, pulling one of his war axes free, and looked at Liv apologetically. "I have to go. It's those damn Imperials, no doubt, come to claim Dawnstar."

Liv waved a hand at him. "You don't have to explain yourself to me. Talos go with you."

Ralof nodded to her and was off, sprinting back the way they had all come and calling over his shoulder, "Sigvir, with me!"

The large, red-bearded man ran after his commander at once, leaving Liv alone with the boy now.

No, not alone. Miraak was still there of course, for what little good _that_ meant. The man stood nearby, arms folded casually at his chest, watching her with the same detachment she had studied Karl's corpse.

Liv carefully began to move Alesan onto her robe, settling him on his back. She straightened out his skinny legs and crossed his arms over his chest then wrapped the fabric around him like a cocoon, making sure he was covered head to foot. Hopefully that would help ward off the cold some and retain whatever body heat he had left.

When she lifted the child into her arms, he felt alarmingly light. Liv had no trouble getting him out of the mine, even running at full speed.

Once outside, she found the town in a state of chaos, men and women, Stormcloak and Legion alike, clashing together, shouting curses and roaring out warcries. Dead bodies from both sides were already sprawled in the snow, surrounded by blood and gore that steamed in the cold.

Liv moved briskly toward the inn, rounding the dragon skeleton still lying in the thoroughfare, and came to a halt. Ahead, blocking the path, a Stormcloak and a Legionnaire went at each other in front of the Jarl's longhouse. Further up, near the inn, she spotted Ralof, both of his war axes out now, spinning through the air, the afternoon sun flashing off the steel. With him were several Stormcloaks and Leif, returned at last from his search for the hunters in the hold, swinging his Daedric greatsword through the neck of an Imperial and sending his head flying in a shower of blood.

A part of her wanted to join in, to help and defend Ralof and her brother, despite her desire to keep out of the conflict between the Stormcloaks and the Empire. It was a hard thing to ignore, that want to protect the people she cared about, but she had a helpless bundle in her arms that needed her more. He had to be her focus, this unlucky child and only witness to the kidnapping of Dawnstar's citizenry. Ralof and Leif could handle themselves.

Before her, still blocking the way, the fight between the Stormcloak and the Legionnaire was coming to a head. The big Nord hauled his heavy warhammer into a wide swipe aimed for the Imperial's chest. The Imperial dodged back from the slow attack easily enough. As the Stormcloak twisted his grip to haul his weapon into a backswing, the Imperial took her chance, dancing back in and thrusting her gladius into her opponent's exposed flank, angling it up through his ribs to pierce his heart. The Stormcloak died on the blade and the Legionnaire shoved him off with a grunt.

The woman swung around, perhaps sensing the other two standing there, and froze. Her dark eyes darted from Liv to Miraak then back to Liv again. Either she didn't notice the bundle in her arms or she chose to ignore it. Her face twisted in righteous anger, her grip tightening on the gladius.

"Don't do it," Liv warned, seeing her intention. "I have no quarrel with you. I don't want to fight you."

"Then you shouldn't have sided with this rebel scum!" the woman snarled, _completely_ misunderstanding her presence here. " _Traitor_!" Then she charged.

 _Damn it._ She didn't have time for this; the _child_ didn't have time for this. Every moment that passed he was that much closer to death. But she didn't want to kill this woman, either, let alone on a misunderstanding. She was not her enemy.

" _Fus Ro_!"

The Imperial stumbled to her knees, a gasp of surprise leaving her.

"I haven't sided with anyone! Don't engage me again!" Liv warned for the last time as she broke for the inn.

The Legionnaire didn't let her get far, however, throwing herself into Liv's legs as soon as she was in range. Fortunately for the child, when Liv fell she landed hard on her side, rather than on top of him, taking the brunt of the fall—and the jolt of pain that came with it—on her left elbow, her other arm wrapped protectively around the boy.

"You stupid, troll-fucking, skeever-faced _bitch_!" she howled, letting go of the boy for a moment to right herself.

Hands grabbed at her from behind, shoving her over onto her back. Weight pushed her into the cold ground. The Imperial's face hovered close to hers, lips drawn back from her teeth, dark eyes accusing, full of betrayal and rage. Cold steel pressed against Liv's throat, not a sword but a dagger. Liv had no choice but to grab her face, summoning flames to her hands. The soldier screamed as her flesh sizzled, the smell of it sickeningly sweet, making Liv want to gag.

Then the woman was suddenly lifting away from her, arms flailing. Liv bolted upright, eyes wide, seeing but not quite believing that it was _Miraak_ , of all people, who'd dragged the Imperial off her. His right hand was a flash of movement, driving something into the woman's neck. Her eyes went wide as moons, confusion flickering behind them, as she uttered a sound that was half gasp and half gargle. With a cruel twist of his wrist, Miraak ripped the object free, tearing the woman's neck open in the process. Blood poured through the ruined flesh from the severed jugular vein, spilling down the front of her uniform in a forked stream. The woman coughed once, twice, blood ejecting from her mouth, and then she crumpled at Miraak's feet.

Liv stared at the other Dragonborn, still perplexed at what had just happened. Then, slowly, as if coming out of a trance, she blinked and lowered her eyes to the bloody object gripped in his bloodier right hand, wondering where he had even gotten a weapon from. But it wasn't a weapon, not really. It was that damn Dwarven dinner knife she had given him back on Solstheim. Liv couldn't help scowling. She should have _known_ that would come back to bite her in the arse.

 _But isn't this what you wanted?_ a traitorous voice in her head asked. _For him to prove he can be trusted with a weapon? He_ did _just sort of use that knife to help you out_.

Liv's scowl deepened. That was neither here nor there. Besides, she suspected an ulterior motive behind the action. "You didn't have to kill her. I didn't need your help, I had it _handled_!"

Miraak fixed her with a cold look. "Did you? You used a weak Shout against her and she put a dagger to your throat. That is the price you pay for showing mercy to an enemy. _You_ should have killed her when you had the chance."

"She was not my enemy!"

"Perhaps not, but you were hers."

"It was a misunderstanding!"

"That nearly cost you your life." Miraak's previously cold look was now a disparaging one. "How in Oblivion have you managed to survive this long?"

Liv ignored the insolent question as she got to her knees and leaned over the boy to check on him. Still alive, for now. She looked up at the man, glaring. "My life wasn't in any danger. Like I said, I had it handled."

"If you say so," Miraak replied with that dismissive, patronizing tone that grated on Liv's last nerve. "Where are you planning to take this child?"

"The inn," Liv all but snarled.

Miraak tossed the Dwarven dinner knife then bent and picked up the Imperial's fallen gladius—he'd decided that he had _more_ than earned it. After a brief examination of the blade and testing its weight and balance with a few experimental swings, he deemed it sufficient, but only just. Then he looked at the woman. "I will lead, you will follow."

The dragon in her stirred angrily at his commanding tone and she didn't like him having that sword, either, but Liv forced herself to accept it. The boy was the bigger priority.

" _Fine_ ," she snapped, scooping the child into her arms and then getting to her feet. "But that sword is only temporary, so don't get used to having it."

"I think I've earned the right to keep it, considering I just saved your life. Or are you not a woman of your word?"

"You did _not_ save my life!"

Miraak let out a low chuckle as he stepped past her to make for the inn. "Denying the truth doesn't make it any less the truth."

Oh, that was _rich_ coming from the man who continuously denied the truth of his predicament and of himself.

"I could say the same to you," Liv muttered, marching after him.

On the short trek to the Windpeak Inn two Legion soldiers, who'd broken away from the larger battle taking place on the road into town, attempted to intercept them. Miraak made short work of both, impaling one through the chest and swiping through the throat of the other. He was very casual about it, as if he were just going through the motions of some tedious routine. Perhaps it should not have surprised her, the easy, callous way he took a life, but it disturbed Liv nonetheless.

 _There is great darkness in him_ , Akatosh had told her, _but perhaps he is not yet lost to it._ Liv wasn't so sure. She believed good and evil existed in everyone, but she also knew that sometimes people descended too far into the darkness to turn back from it, to see the way out. Sometimes they didn't _want_ to turn back. Miraak was blinded by his arrogance, obdurate in his ways, and incapable of admitting to mistakes. That wasn't exactly a hopeful combination.

With the way to the inn now clear, Liv hurried past the other Dragonborn, climbed the inn's steps, and used a Word of Power— _Bex_ , learned from the Greybeards— to open the door since her hands were full. As the door flew open, Liv stepped inside and was relieved to find the firepit still alight, the room pleasantly warm.

She took the child as close to the fire as she deemed safe enough, putting him gently on the ground. She checked his breathing and pulse once again then slung her knapsack from her shoulder, pulling the flap open. Liv rummaged through the mélange of potions inside, hoping to find the one she needed but not really expecting to. She held on to most of the draughts she found in her travels, keeping the ones that were useful to her and eventually selling off the rest, which she hadn't found the time to do yet. As she expected, though, the potion she needed was not among her stash, but perhaps the alchemist's shop in town might have one.

There was just one problem. She needed to stay with the child, which meant she would have to get _him_ to fetch the potion. She'd probably have better luck fighting an army of dragon-mounted draugr deathlords, though.

Thankfully, Liv was spared that problem. As soon as she got to her feet, Leif stepped through the open doorway, supporting an injured Stormcloak. It was Sigvir. Her brother appeared uninjured. They were followed by Ralof and seven other Stormcloaks, all of them nursing various wounds, some that didn't look good.

"Did you leave any Imperials alive?" she asked, hurrying over to help her brother settle Sigvir on a bench.

"Not intentionally," Leif confirmed. "One of the craven bastards ran off with his tail between his legs. Got away."

"That's not good," Liv said as she examined the wound in Sigvir's side. His ringmail had stopped the blade from fully penetrating him, but there was a lot of blood coming through the hole in his armor. "He'll be headed for his camp, to tell the others what happened, how many Stormcloaks were killed in the assault, how many are left. They'll come in larger numbers next time."

"They won't be so bold as to try another assault so soon, though," Leif assured her. "They know the Dragonborn has sided with the Stormcloaks, or at least that's what's going to be assumed." He laughed at her expression. "Don't look so shocked. They heard you Shout."

"But they didn't see who I was Shouting at. It could've been a Stormcloak, for all they knew."

"There's one thing they did know: you didn't march on the town with them. You were already here, so it's safe for them to assume."

Liv let out another unladylike curse. Then she asked, "Did you find the hunters?"

Leif shook his head. "Found what might have been their camp, but it was abandoned. I also checked the tower up on the hill, hoping Erandur might be there. No such luck, though."

Liv had forgotten about Erandur in her fixation with figuring out who had taken the town's people. That the mer was not in his tower was a bad sign. "He would never leave his shrine to Mara, not unless it was important or he had no choice."

"I know." Leif put a hand on her shoulder, squeezed. "Maybe he didn't see what happened but found the town empty and decided to investigate the area. He might still be out there."

Liv hoped so, but doubted it. It seemed more likely he'd been in town when the disappearances took place, perhaps to pick up supplies, and was taken along with everyone else.

"What about you?" Leif asked. "Find anything while you were looking around the town?"

"I did." Liv swept a hand toward the bundled boy lying on the floor near the firepit. "Behold the only potential witness to the disappearances."

"Shor's bones," Leif breathed, staring at the boy in surprise. "Where'd you find him?"

"Iron-Breaker mine. I'll explain later. Right now I need you to do me a favor."

Leif looked back at his sister and nodded eagerly. "Anything. Name it."

"I need you to go to the alchemist's shop in town and get me all the healing and cold-resisting potions you can carry. The child needs healing and quickly, and they're going to need some attention, as well." Liv swept her hand around the room, at the wounded soldiers.

"I'll be back before you know it."

"Thank you."

Leif patted her on the shoulder as he headed for the inn door. Liv looked around the room, at the groaning men, their bleeding wounds and broken limbs, and sighed.

Even with the potions and her basic knowledge of healing spells, it was going to be a long night.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

* * *

 **Erasmis** Marvani stood on the bow end of the Northern Maiden, clinging ashen-knuckled to some stacked cargo crates as the ship swayed and rocked over the Sea of Ghosts. His stomach swayed and rocked with it, sometimes pushing up a bit of that morning's breakfast and leaving a sour taste in his mouth. By a stroke of luck (or fate), the ship had arrived in Raven Rock as they did, to pick up some cargo to be delivered back to Windhelm. Erasmis didn't feel all that lucky now, though, with his stomach protesting every little movement. By Azura's light, he hated the sea and these Daedra-forsaken Nordic boats, built so perilously low to the water's surface and with no balustrades to speak of. He supposed building them lower to the water made them swifter, but with no barrier to keep water from swarming up over the deck, all it would take was one good storm to sink it into the sea like a rock.

Four hours, at the most. Four hours and they would reach Skyrim. Four hours and his feet would touch dry land again. If he could make the trip from Morrowind to Solstheim all those years ago, surely he could make this one.

Erasmis focused on the way ahead, at the lumpy white expanse of land that dominated the southwestern horizon, and tried not to think any further of drowning or the ever increasing queasiness in his belly. But of course trying not to think about those things made him reflect on the _other_ thing he had been trying not to think about: the sad, disappointed look on his daughter's face that morning as he left their cave hideout to make for Skyrim.

He had at least gotten to spend some time with Seyda after being gone for three months, mindlessly laboring away at that strange temple at the center of Solstheim. The reunion had been good, joyous, _needed_ , but still…that _look_ on her face when he told her he would be leaving again, this time on an important mission that would change their lives. That had mattered little to the child, though; all she knew was her father was going away again, and after he had only just gotten back. Yes, he was doing it for her, to change _her_ life for the better, but even knowing that brought him scant comfort, did nothing to ease the guilt chewing away at his insides.

He used to laugh at people who thought parenting was the hardest thing in the world to do. What was so hard about it? You feed the kid, raise her, and when she comes of age, you send her out into the world. But then Seyda came along and changed his whole understanding of it. Parenting was in no way simple. You weren't just raising a child, but creating a person, and with that responsibility came a variety of different roles you must take on. When you're the only parent, those roles were doubled. He was creator and shaper, teacher and example, awarder and discipliner, the voice of reason and conscience. He had to know when to nurture and when to show tough love, when to let her start making her own mistakes so she could learn from them. There was always, always the fear and anxiety of getting it all wrong, missing a step somewhere, failing as a parent. There was the belief that you had to get it just right for your child to survive and thrive in the world, and yet you never knew if you _were_ getting it right or not. All you could do was hope and pray they turned out okay, that you did your job to the best of your ability.

Erasmis supposed it was inevitable, though, that all parents will at some point disappoint their children no matter their good intentions. Perhaps when Seyda was older and had children of her own, she would look back on the things he'd done and understand why he'd felt he had to do them.

Whether or not he would live to see his daughter grow up or meet his future grandchildren remained to be seen. Erasmis had no intention of dying, of course, but he was fully aware of the danger this task Hermaeus Mora had given him posed. He had expected nothing less when he bent his knee to the Deadric Lord. The Daedra commanded nothing light of their servants; how else were they meant to prove themselves worthy of their Lord's favor? Still, anything could happen, no matter his intentions.

He had recalled something Hakeem had once told him. The old Redguard duelist who had been both friend and mentor to Erasmis in his wandering youth, teaching him all of what he knew of life and his style of swordplay, was long dead now, but much of his wisdom had stayed with his pupil. _The wise man hopes for the best,_ he'd said once, _but prepares for the worst_.

So Erasmis had prepared for the worst before leaving that morning, putting Amaya in charge of their Reaver band and Seyda's care. They had agreed upon this arrangement long ago in the event that something should happen to him, yet despite that, Amaya had argued against him leaving her behind, insisted that she should take part in helping him secure Seyda's future—as the child's surrogate mother, it was as much her responsibility as it was his. Amaya had tried everything in her power to change his mind, even stooping to inflict her feminine wiles on him. Sometimes those wiles were an effective weapon (and maybe sometimes he _let_ thembe effective), but this had not been one of those times. This was too important. In the end, Amaya conceded, though not without some resentment toward him.

Nonetheless, a few hours before he had left that morning they had made love in the privacy of their bed chamber, no more than a little niche in the cave they all called home. There had been no resentment from her then, only a potent, feverish combination of love and longing and fear and desperation, as if the world was ending and here was their last and only chance to be together, to say it all in the best way, their feelings through action. For all he knew, it might well have been.

Erasmis was not alone in his task, at least. He still had Nevosi and Raven with him. The former was stretched out on some cargo crates on the starboard side of the ship, travel pack pillowing his head as he napped, and the latter was standing nearby, staring out across the ocean, black robe and black hair thrashing in the wind. In his right hand he gripped his mage's staff, five and a half feet of polished ebony, crowned with a flaming red ruby about the size of a tern's egg. Friends, who were also like brothers to him. They had been ready to step into Apocrypha with him, and now here they were ready to take on two Dragonborn with him, if it came to that.

If everything went as planned, it wouldn't need to.

The task was to bring Hermaeus Mora's vengeance down upon the two Dragonborn and the Aedra that had created them for their respective treachery and meddling, and the Daedric Lord had a specific way He wanted it done. Mora had assured him that he need not worry about the latter, however. So long as Erasmis succeeded with the other two, Mora would be revenged upon the Aedra for His meddling.

Erasmis had been savagely satisfied to learn from the Prince that one of the Dragonborn, the same bloody bastard who had been behind the mind-enslaving magic that affected him and so many others on Solstheim, was no longer in control of the power he'd once had. Mora had claimed it had gone dormant, which Erasmis supposed didn't necessarily mean gone for good, but at least the bastard was still paying some kind of price for what he'd done. And he would pay double by the end, whether his power woke up again or not. While concocting a plan for this task with his friends, Erasmis had considered that possibility and prepared a solution for it.

 _Still need to tread softly, though,_ Erasmis thought, trying to fight off another, stronger wave of nausea, his mouth filling with saliva. His skin felt clammy and tingly. _Very softly._

 _Nothing is guaranteed_ , as Hakeem had often told him, but Erasmis had an advantage his foe did not: the element of surprise. They had no idea he was coming for them, had no idea who he and the others were, even. So long as that remained to be so, Erasmis and his friends would have the upper hand.

No longer able to hold it off, Erasmis bent over, hands on his knees, and threw up over the side of the boat. _Four hours. Only four hours._

But he had a feeling it was going to be a _long_ four hours.

* * *

As the sun came to rest at its late afternoon spot in the sky, glowing hazily behind a veil of cloud cover, the Northern Maiden slid into Windhelm's harbor and Erasmis nudged Nevosi awake.

"Rise and shine, you lazy sack of guar shit," he said, mostly teasing. "We're here."

And the sooner they got off this damn tub, the better. Erasmis had been on a boat only three times in his long years of life; once, when leaving Morrowind for Solstheim, a second time raiding a pirate's ship (although it had been anchored in a cove at the time, he had still managed to get sick on it), and now. He had vomited only four times on this trip, which made it the easiest voyage he'd been on so far. The sail from Morrowind had been the worst; he'd spent the entire trip hunched over the bulwark, puking his guts into the ocean to the amusement of everyone on board. Even his wife, dead for many years now, had fared better than him on that trip, and she had been pregnant with Seyda at the time.

Nevosi sat up on the crates he'd been using as a bed and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes to clear the sleep-haze from his vision. "Already?" he asked through a yawn. "I could have slept a few more hours. I could eat, too."

"Later," Erasmis told him, not wanting to even _think_ about food right now. "We have much to do and not a lot of time to do it in. We're at least a day and a half behind our quarry, and we have no idea where they are."

"Perhaps we should start by asking after them, as we did in Raven Rock," Raven suggested, striding up to join them. He was somewhat of an imposing figure; dark-eyed, grim-faced, strong about the shoulders, and unusually tall for a Dunmer. At six feet, he had half a head over Nevosi and a few inches more over Erasmis, who was shortest among them.

"Good luck trying to get the Nords to tell us anything," Nevosi scoffed as he grabbed his quiver of arrows from where it leaned against a crate, pulling the leather carry strap over his head so it rested diagonal on his chest. He adjusted it until the case settled just behind his right shoulder and then buckled it snugly in place. "They'd sooner spit on us than talk to us, and I hear the ones in Windhelm are even less friendly. We'll find no help here."

"I wasn't speaking of the Nords," Raven said. "That mercenary at the Retching Netch claimed the woman we're pursuing is friendly with our people here in the so called 'Gray Quarter'. They will talk to us."

Erasmis nodded as he pulled thoughtfully at the hairs of his goatee. "Yes, we'll start there. If we don't have any luck, I'm fairly certain we can still get one of these Nords to give up something. The woman is a hero among her people, remember. Respected. We might be able to use that to our advantage. Portray ourselves as her former companions. If they think we've aided her before, they might be willing to aid us in return."

Nevosi's expression said he still thought it was a waste of time, but he didn't argue. "You're the boss, boss." He grabbed his ebony bow off a crate and shouldered it to keep it within easy reach.

As soon as the Northern Maiden settled at the pier and the captain deemed it okay to disembark, the trio stepped off the boat, Erasmis a little bit wobbly on his feet, and started up the pier where a city guardsman stood in the way, facing in their direction. He had the tall, hulking physique typical of most Nords and wore ringmail under quilted leather and a woven blue sash, complete with a spiked helmet that covered most of his face but for his eyes. In his left hand he carried a round, wooden shield painted with a bear's head on a field of blue. His right rested on the grip of a steel war axe.

"Hold!" the guard commanded. "What's your business here in Skyrim?"

Erasmis instinctively touched his hand to the katana hanging at his left hip. He saw the guard's eyes follow the gesture, body tensing up. "What concern is it of yours?"

Fierce blue eyes stared out from the eye-holes in the man's helmet. "You're foreigners here, and it's my job to question foreigners coming into our land through Windhelm's harbor. So I ask again: what's your business here?"

Erasmis figured he might as well try out his 'companions of the Dragonborn' theory since it was apparent this brute wasn't going to get out of their way until he got an answer. "No business. We are in pursuit of a friend. Her name is Liv, but you might know her better as the Dragonborn."

The guard's eyes blinked a few times inside his helmet. " _You_ know the Dragonborn?"

Erasmis gave a disarming grin. "Of course. We helped her solve a few problems in Solstheim. She said she'd return the favor if we ever needed anything. Well, we're in a bit of jam, so we've come to ask for her help."

The guard grunted. "You couldn't've sent a letter?"

"Time is short, I'm afraid. I figure we can reach her long before a letter ever will."

"Hrmph." The guard's eyes dropped to Erasmis's weapon again, and completely off topic, he said: "That's an Akaviri sword. Don't see many dark elves carrying a weapon like that."

Erasmis's grin remained fixed on his face. "Ah, I'm honored you noticed! No, you do not see many of my kind wielding katana. As it happens, it was a gift." In actuality, he had taken it off a pirate captain's corpse. The man barely knew how to use it, which was how he ended up dead in the first place. Erasmis had killed him in two moves, despite his seasickness at the time. Where the pirate had even gotten the katana was a mystery never to be solved, but Erasmis found out later from using it that it could cut through any armor and absorbed its victim's health. No doubt worth a good deal of gold, not that he'd ever sell it. The katana was a light weapon but very durable, and fit his speedy, duelist style of swordplay perfectly. He had named the sword Inevitable, because, as Hakeem had often told him, _every good blade deserves a good name._ What better name for a blade no armor could stop, which made injury and even death almost inevitable?

"Pft," the guard scoffed. "A stick is what it is. Skinny little blade like that ain't going to do much damage. Now an axe? _That's_ a real weapon. Small but can still take a man's head clean off in one stroke."

Erasmis shifted his weight from one foot to the other, curling his fingers around the grip of Inevitable, tight but not too tight. "A katana is skinny, yes, but it's meant to be a slashing weapon. A slash can be just as deadly as a hack or chop if you know how and where to employ it—the neck, for example. Or here."

Almost quicker than the eye could follow, Erasmis unsheathed the katana and flicked the blade up between the guard's legs. Its sharp edge rested against his unprotected inner thigh, a fatal slice if this had been a real fight. Inevitable may have been able to pierce any armor, but sometimes he didn't need it to.

The Nord jumped back in surprise, ripping his war axe loose from his belt. "Hey! What the—"

Erasmis laughed heartily and sheathed his weapon to show he meant no harm by it—not much, anyway. "There is an artery there, the second largest in the body. Once severed, that's it—the hapless victim will bleed out in less than a minute. Skinny weapons can also be more effective against some heavy armors; it can reach into creases where your axes cannot. Never underestimate a 'stick' in the hands of someone who knows how to use it."

The guard's weapon remained in his hand, as if he felt an attack was still imminent. When he spoke he sounded affronted, perhaps because Erasmis had caught him off guard and embarrassed him: "So you know how to wield your little twig. Should I be impressed?"

Erasmis shrugged on the matter. "Actually, I was wondering if you might know where the Dragonborn is. As I've mentioned, we're kind of in a hurry to find her."

The guard scoffed. "How should I know? Do I look like her keeper?"

"Then we'll be on our way."

"Fine, just stay out of trouble. Us guards'll be keeping an eye on you and your friends, little elf."

The guard went back to whatever he had been doing before he'd decided to harass them, and Erasmis made his way down the rest of the pier, Nevosi and Raven following close. He had no idea where he was going, but figured there had to be a way into the city from the harbor. They followed the main dock, passing by a pair of Argonians, a female carrying a bundle of leather scraps in her arms and a male with a perpetual scowl on his face.

"What're you looking at, elf?" he snarled at Erasmis in passing.

Erasmis stared after him, shaking his head. "My, but everyone is friendly here, aren't they?" he remarked to his friends.

"The Nords don't like anyone who isn't a Nord," Nevosi said, a grimness in his voice that was unlike him. "Our people are barely tolerated, the Argonians are treated more or less like slaves, and the Khajiit are forbidden from entering the town. It's like that across most of Skyrim, but it's particularly bad here. Kind of hard to be sociable when everybody hates you simply for being different."

"You seem to understand the situation rather well for someone who's never been here before."

"I had a fling with a Dunmer who used to live here in the Gray Quarter," Nevosi explained, then moved his hands in the figure of an hourglass. "Fantastic body, beautiful as Queen Barenziah, but had the rather annoying habit of talking too much about herself. You'd think she believed she _was_ Queen Barenziah, the way she went on. Anyway, she told me about the time she'd spent here, staying with a relative. Or 'those few years of utter misery', as she had called them."

"Did she tell you anything helpful?" Erasmis asked.

Nevosi shrugged. "Just to avoid the Nords and not cause any trouble with them, but since you just pulled a _blade_ on one of their _guards_ not five minutes into our arrival, I'd say that advice is pointless now."

Erasmis flashed his teeth in a grin. "The man was clearly interested in my katana. I thought he might like a closer look."

"I seriously doubt he has eyes in his _crotch_ , Ras."

Erasmis laughed. "A shame he had the helmet on. I would have loved to see the look on his face."

They came upon a set of snow-covered stone stairs and followed them up to a big, solid iron gate. Erasmis and Raven pushed it open and they all stepped through, finding themselves inside the town, in a deserted section. Or so it had seemed.

"Hi," a small voice greeted the three Dunmer. "You wanna buy some flowers? I picked them myself."

Erasmis turned to the owner of that voice, a little girl standing just off to the side of the gate near some barrels, a basket of assorted flowers hanging from her arm, smiling with effort through a face grimy with dirt. She had to be no more than ten, definitely Nord with her blonde hair, blue eyes, and fair skin. The dress she wore was dirty and torn at the hems, her shoes little more than scraps of leather bound with frayed ties. If her clothes weren't pitiful enough, Erasmis noted how scrawny she looked, her arms too thin, her cheeks hollowed in. As a father who had watched his own child starve, he could not help but feel grief for the girl, and anger at her undeserved suffering.

"Where are your parents?" he asked.

The girl shrugged and cast her eyes downward. "They died. My ma got sick when I was little and my da was a Stormcloak. He went away to fight, and never came back."

Erasmis frowned and knelt down on one knee in front of the girl. "I'm sorry to hear that, little one. You have no other guardian to care for you?"

The girl shook her head, her filthy, tangled hair swishing around her shoulders. "But I sell flowers for food, and sometimes my friend gives me septims when I see her."

"Your friend?"

"Uh-huh." The child smiled a little easier this time. "Her name's Liv, _and_ she's the Dragonborn!" The smile faltered. "I wish she could be my mother, but she has to fight dragons and stuff. But Ambarys is nice to me too, sometimes, even though he acts grumpy. He's a Dunmer like you, and he lets me stay at his inn sometimes and gives me a sweet roll if I help him clean the inn, but not that often because he's poor too. A lot of people in the Gray Quarter are."

Erasmis shared a look with his friends then focused on the girl again. "When was the last time you saw your friend, the Dragonborn?"

"Yesterday morning. She gave me a pouch of septims and talked to me for a while. Her and Ambarys are the only nice people. Most everyone else here just ignores me. Well, except you." The girl smiled again. "You're nice too."

Erasmis smiled back. "I try my best. Do you know where your friend went after she talked to you?"

The girl pointed down the passageway running right from the iron gate. "She went to see Ambarys at his inn. It's down there, next to Sadri's shop." She tilted her head curiously. "Are you looking for her? Do you know her too?"

"My friends and I helped her, once. Now we need her help." Erasmis straightened to his feet. "Tell me, child, why are you still out here in the cold selling flowers when you could be at the inn having a warm meal bought by your friend's kindness?"

The girl shrugged. "I'll only get a few meals with those septims, but I'll get more if I sell my flowers."

Erasmis smiled approvingly. He put a gentle hand on her shoulder and bent over to look her in the face. "You're smart for one so young. Hope for kindness, but never expect it. We must make our own way in this world."

The girl blinked at him curiously, but nodded.

Erasmis opened the flap on his travel pack and reached inside. "You helped me by answering my questions, so now I must return the favor." He brought out a small pouch of coin and set it inside her basket, careful not to crush any of her flowers.

The girl's big blue eyes glittered with grateful tears. "Thank you so much! Gods bless your kind heart!"

"What is your name, child?"

"Sophie," she answered, drawing the back of her hand across her wet eyes.

"Sophie. You can call me Ras." Erasmis reached out and playfully booped her nose with his forefinger. "Be grateful for what is given to you, Sophie, but be proud of what you have earned. This you have earned. I'm afraid I have to go now, but it was nice to meet you."

"It was nice to meet you too," Sophie called after him as he and the other two made their way down the passage the girl had indicated earlier. "Please, come back and talk to me again, Ras!"

Erasmis waved back to her as Nevosi said, teasingly: "When did you get so _soft_ , Ras?"

"How would you like a katana up your _ass_ , Nevosi?" he shot back, still smiling and waving to the girl.

Nevosi chortled. "Oof, touchy!"

"We have a lead now, at least," said Raven, never one to join in on the good-natured teasing between friends. "Hopefully this Ambarys can tell us more about our quarry."

Nevosi nodded, stuffing his frozen-stiff hands into the warmth of his armpits. "And the sooner we find him, the sooner we'll be warm. It's colder than a whore's heart out here."

The Gray Quarter was, not to Erasmis's surprise, a cheerless place; much of what they had seen of the town and its people so far gave a rather dismal first impression, it would have been foolish to think this quarter, where the town's Dunmer outcasts lived, would be any better. Most of the buildings were rundown, the thoroughfare was compact and cracked so bad you could see the dirt beneath the stone. The stench of waste was strong in the air, and Eramis and his friends had to skirt around frozen puddles of it on the ground. Someone had made an attempt to cheer the place up and add some kind of homey atmosphere by hanging up colorful banners in the Morrowind style around the buildings. It did scant good.

Ambarys's cornerclub was right where the girl had said it was, next door to a shop called Sadri's Used Wares. Inside, they found the place mostly empty but for three Dunmer, one sweeping the floor with a sad excuse for a broom, another having a bite to eat a table in the corner, and the last—this Ambarys, Erasmis presumed—standing behind the counter, cleaning an assortment of wooden and metal tankards.

He looked up briefly at his new customers then went back to his task. "I haven't seen you lot before. Where did you just get in from, Morrowind or Solstheim?"

"Solstheim," Erasmis replied as he walked up to the counter, Nevosi and Raven behind him. "You're Ambarys?"

"I am." Ambarys put down the cup he was cleaning and swept his hand around the room, lips twisted in a bitter smile. "Welcome to my humble establishment. You want some advice, you should keep moving. This town offers very little to our people outside of misery. You'll find a warmer welcome and better opportunity in Whiterun."

Erasmis settled down on one of the stools at the counter. "If it's so much better in Whiterun, why are you still here? Why not just move there?"

Ambarys raised his brows. "And leave behind all I've built? No, I've put too much work into this cornerclub to simply pack up and leave now. Besides, that would be giving these Nords exactly what they want." He looked closely at Erasmis. "And what is it you want? A drink? A bite to eat?"

"Information. I understand you spoke to the Dragonborn yesterday morning."

"What of it?"

"Is she by any chance still in town, and if so, where might I find her?"

Ambarys's expression became guarded, cautious. "Who exactly is asking?"

Erasmis gave him his disarming smile. "A friend. We met on Solstheim, helped her out with a problem. Now we need her help."

Ambarys scratched at his chin as he eyed Erasmis across the counter. "I see. The Dragonborn, who killed the World-Eater, needed help from three Dunmer, two of whom are dressed like common thugs?" His face crumpled into a scowl. "Do you take me for a fool?"

Erasmis frowned. "I'm starting to. A fool _and_ a hypocrite. You judge our character by the way we look. How does that make you any different from the Nords who treat you like shit just for being a Dunmer?"

Ambarys winced as if struck. Then he sighed. "I suppose…I see your point. I was wrong to do that, my apologies. But I still find it difficult to believe that woman would require help for anything after killing Alduin. Surely there's no task that would prove more difficult than _him_."

"And who is to say she didn't have help in doing that?" Erasmis countered. "She does travel with her brother, after all. I know from personal experience he's not just there for company."

Ambarys scratched at his chin again. "Perhaps not. So you say you helped her. With what?"

Erasmis put on a surprised look. "You haven't heard about what happened on Solstheim? There was a man, used some kind of magic to control the minds of most of the people on the island. I'm surprised you haven't heard about it."

Ambarys shrugged. "I may have heard it mentioned once or twice. These days you hear a lot about bad things happening. Hard to keep up with all the evil and injustice in the world."

"Some of us were fortunate enough not to be affected. So we helped her to stop him. We _had_ to. You don't just sit around and let someone else defend your home and your people for you."

Ambarys was quiet for a time, seeming to weigh Erasmis's story. At last, he said, "I'm fairly certain she's no longer in town. She mentioned something was going on in Dawnstar and intended to look into it. You might find her there."

"And where is this Dawnstar?"

"Northwest of here. Small port town. If you follow the coastline, it'll lead you right to it. On foot, it'll probably take you nine or ten hours to get there, six or seven on horseback. There's also Gort, down at the harbor. He owns a row boat. For a small fee, he'll take you to Dawnstar, but the trip will probably take as much time as if you'd walked."

"Where can I get horses?"

"The stables are outside of town from the main gate, just at the end of the bridge."

Erasmis put a pregnant pouch of septims on the counter and got up to leave. "I appreciate the information."

Ambarys looked glad for a second. "And _I_ appreciate the gold."

When Erasmis and his friends reached the stables outside town, they found the stablemaster, a tall, golden-skinned Altmer, shoveling horse dung from an empty stall. _All_ the stalls were empty, Erasmis noticed with some annoyance.

The Altmer looked up from his task and offered a somewhat apologetic look. "Sorry. If you've come to buy a horse, I'm afraid I sold my last two yesterday morning."

" _Fabulous_ ," Erasmis said unhappily.

Nevosi clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. "Looks like we're walking, then. Unless you want to chance whatever's left in your stomach with Gort and his row boat."

"I'd rather make love to a nix-hound."

"You can hire the carriage there," the stablemaster said, pointing to the cart sitting near the side of the road, complete with horse and carriage driver. "He'll take you anywhere you want to go in Skyrim, for a fee."

Erasmis nodded his thanks and headed over to the carriage driver, a Nord with thinning brown hair and a scar on the bridge of his nose. "We'd like to hire your carriage."

The man looked at each of them in turn, making a reluctant face, and then gave a curt nod. "Fine. Where you want to go?"

"Dawnstar."

The Nord held his hand out to Erasmis, making a _fork it over_ gesture with his fingers. "Fifty septims. _Each_."

"Each?" Nevosi protested. "That's highway robbery!"

The Nord said nothing, only looked at him indifferently.

Erasmis produced the gold from his pack and gave it over without complaint. After all, once his task was complete, he would never have to worry about gold again.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

* * *

 **It** had been hours since Miraak had gone to his chosen bed, what was little more than a fur-blanketed pallet supported by a precarious wooden frame (and the best the Windpeak Inn had to offer), and he still couldn't sleep.

He felt both tired and wide awake at the same time. He wasn't certain why, but these nearly two sleepless days in Nirn doing little beyond traveling and engaging in a few bouts of violence had managed to physically tax him— _he_ , who had once battled his former mentor and a small army of dragons with spell, _Thu'um_ and blade for three days straight.

His mind, on the other hand, seemed to run on its own endless supply of energy, cranking out thoughts with the unflagging persistence of a Dwemer machine—the same pointless, bitter and grieving thoughts that had been plaguing him since the loss of his power. Those were bad enough, but the worst of it, the greater cause of his insomnia, was the high probability that what had happened to him could not have been prevented, had been out of his control.

The logical part of him knew there was no point dwelling on it; it had happened and no amount of brooding would change it, but logic was overshadowed by the injustice of it all, by the outrage and anguish of it. He refused to accept it; he had been fighting too hard and too long to control his own life, he would not bow down now.

So _much_ of it had been out of his hands already; his orphaning as a youngling, the numerous cruel hands that played some part in rearing him, his service to the dragons, his being Dragonborn—none of it had been his choice. He had been pushed and pulled toward some purpose or other that was always of someone else's making.

Until, that was, he'd decided _no more;_ no more would his life be dictated by others, no more would he dance to another's tune. He had honed his inborn talents and expanded his knowledge to take back his own life, to rise above what others wanted and expected from him, to reach that position where there was no master but himself. So determine was he to achieve this goal that he knelt before a Daedric Prince and gave service in exchange for forbidden knowledge and power. Ironic perhaps, but he had never intended to serve Hermaeus Mora for long; the demon had merely been a means to an end, a way for him to get what he needed. If he had to play the servant then to become his own master later, so be it. Except it was never enough; Hermaeus Mora always had some other task waiting for him, always wanted more from him, but Miraak had already gotten what he'd needed and paid his due, so he saw no reason to _keep_ serving him.

But when it was all said and done, he had gotten only a _taste_ of the true power and control he'd sought before the Prince had wrested it away by imprisoning him in his realm for refusing to serve him any longer, and the Last Dragonborn's interference had ensured it was well out of his reach now.

She had asked him once if it had all been worth it in the end, and he, of course, had not hesitated to answer yes, but the truth of the matter was, he didn't know.

If there was any good to be taken from the whole fiasco, it was this: he was not the only one who had been thwarted. Despite all his scheming, Hermaeus Mora hadn't gotten what he wanted in the end either. He had been foiled by the very woman he'd sought to ensnare, and that was…

Miraak suddenly sat up in the bed as that thought led to a deeper realization: no, she had _more_ than just foiled Mora's plans. With the single act of Shouting him from Apocrypha, she had defied, betrayed and _cheated_ the Prince.

 _Yet, somehow, she managed to make it out of Apocrypha…_

His brow furrowed.

… _without a scratch._

Which should have been _impossible_ , seeing as how Daedric Princes didn't exactly have a reputation for letting mortals get away with defying them—and he, of course, would know.

Damn it to Oblivion. He should have realized this anomaly sooner—he _would_ have realized it if he hadn't been so caught up in his own misfortune, if he hadn't been wallowing in it like a damn _fool_.

How had she managed to escape Mora's wrath and his realm? How could _she_ have done in a _moment_ what _he_ hadn't been able to accomplish in _four millennia_?

That she might have made some kind of deal with the Prince crossed his mind, but Miraak rejected it almost immediately; he doubted she had anything of worth to offer Hermaeus Mora in exchange for a pardon of her transgressions. Presumably she hadn't escaped using Tsun's Shout, either; she had told him it only worked on others, not oneself. And even if she had been lying about that, she was nowhere near powerful enough to Shout consecutively. It would've taken her a moment of respite before she could use it again after using it on him, and that would have given the Daedric Lord more than enough time to make her regret her actions.

This wasn't right. It didn't make _sense_.

The bed groaned ominously under Miraak's weight as he hauled himself from it. Since he couldn't sleep, he might as well get some answers. And if it required force, all the better. It was probably juvenile, but it infuriated him that she had somehow escaped punishment for her transgressions, where he had been made to suffer for his. It was tempting to punish her himself—for the satisfaction it would give him, if nothing else.

He marched into the mostly empty common room; the only present body was that of the Dragonborn's brother, who was _supposed_ to be keeping an eye on the health of that Redguard child—he had insisted on it, in fact, so his sister could rest after spending most of the night healing the wounded Stormcloaks. Instead, he sat at one of the tables outside the boy's room, head resting on his folded arms, sleeping through his self-appointed duty. Somehow, Miraak wasn't surprised.

He found the Dragonborn in the room neighboring the child's, awake and sitting at the edge of her bed. At some point she had taken her hair out of its braid (and Miraak was acutely aware that this should _not_ have been the first thing he noticed; he should not have noticed at all) and it now flowed around her shoulders and down her back like a red-gold cloak. Absurdly and impractically long, but even still, maybe it didn't look unpleasant out of its plait. Maybe it even looked better that way…

But that was _irrelevant_.

Apparently he'd caught her in the middle of practicing her magic, as the next thing Miraak observed was the bedside table hovering about three feet off the floor, bound in a thin aura of reddish-orange energy. The woman held a hand toward it, that same red-orange light swirling around her fingers and palm. A little dent of concentration marred her brow.

"We must speak, Dragonborn," he commanded from the doorway.

She didn't startle or lose focus at his sudden appearance; the bedside table held firmly in the air. "Kinda busy at the moment, in case you hadn't noticed," she said without looking at him. "Whatever it is will have to wait."

Miraak felt his temper stir, his teeth clenching. Who in _Oblivion_ did she think she was dismissing him as if he were a peasant she couldn't be bothered with? In three strides he towered over her like an angry giant. " _It was not a request_."

"You waited around in Apocrypha for four millennia…" She lifted her glowing hand higher. The nightstand rose with it, the lit candle and metal tankard on top barely wobbling. "I think you can wait a few more _minutes_ for me to finish."

"I will _not_ wait," he snarled, knocking her outstretched hand down and disrupting the spell.

The table banged down on the floor, wobbling a little before it settled on its legs. The candle and tankard, however, toppled over and onto the floor with a clatter, the room dimming as the candle flame went out. The only light now came in through the doorway from the common room.

Wordlessly, Liv picked up the overturned candle, relit it with a spark of mage fire and sat it back on the table.

Miraak felt her anger before he actually saw it, then she looked up and it was staring at him from her Stalhrim-blue eyes; not that vibrant anger she often exhibited, but an exasperation dulled by weariness. Perhaps sleep had not come for her either. _Good_ , he thought, knowing it was petty and childish, and not caring.

"All right, Miraak," she said evenly. "You want to talk, let's talk. Have a _seat_."

Miraak tensed when that red-orange glow flared up in her hand again, fully expecting her—and with good reason—to inflict that spell on him.

"Do _not_ —" he started to warn, but something smashed into the back of his legs, so hard it unhinged his knees. He sat down hard with a grunt; not on the floor, he realized with great relief a second later, but in the chair that had been up against the wall behind him only a moment ago—the one she had apparently manipulated with Telekinesis.

Liv looked mildly pleased with herself. "Comfortable?"

Miraak took a breath and held it for a moment in an attempt to curb his mounting fury, then released it slowly. "Keep testing me, Dragonborn, and I may do something we will both regret."

"Oh, stop being so dramatic. It was harmless; maybe not to your _pride_ , but…" The creature trailed off, her eyes roaming his face as if she were only now seeing it for the first time. Her expression changed, a small furrow forming between her brows, her lips easing from that smirk. "Uh, you feeling okay? You look a little ragged around the edges."

Miraak frowned, taken aback by the unexpected question and the small measure of concern he sensed from her. "What?"

" _Are you feeling okay_?" she repeated slowly.

Perhaps the question shouldn't have surprised him. She did, after all, have an invested interest in his wellbeing, as he did in hers; if something was wrong with him and she didn't see to it, she risked the displeasure of her god. "I did not come to you to discuss how I'm _feeling_ ," he said, annoyed.

"Nevertheless, if something's wrong, I can help. Probably."

"You want to help?" Miraak snapped. "Then explain to me how you managed to get away with defying a Daedric Prince and escaping his realm. You should not be here; you never should have made it out of Apocrypha."

"So you finally stopped feeling sorry for yourself long enough to come to that conclusion," Liv said without a hint of malice, as if she were only acknowledging a fact. "A shame it's the wrong one."

"Is it?" he scoffed. "And yet you are here and don't appear to be suffering any consequences for your actions."

"Not everything is as it appears, Miraak. Who says those consequences aren't forthcoming? You assume I escaped Apocrypha, but who says Herma-Mora didn't _let_ me?"

Miraak made a skeptical face. "You are suggesting it was intentional? He allowed you to escape?"

"So it would seem, but not without promising I hadn't seen the last of him, that my actions would inevitably reap great consequences."

"That makes no sense. What happened after you Shouted me out?"

"He was, as I'm sure you can imagine, quite furious, and I'm betting it wasn't just because I defied him. He didn't see it coming; for the Daedric Prince of fate and knowledge, I imagine that was like a sucker punch to his pride."

"So…?" He made an impatient gesture that told her to get to the important part.

"He grabbed me up in one of his— _ugh_ —tentacles. I thought he would smash me to death on the ground or squeeze me until my guts squirted from every orifice, but no. He wanted the knowledge of Tsun's Shout, first—intended to _literally_ rip it out of my mind, but I Shouted myself ethereal. I wasn't sure it would even work, but it did." She shrugged and crossed her arms under her breasts, unwittingly making them strain against the V-shaped collar of her vest. Miraak looked away awkwardly, his face warm. "Or maybe he _allowed_ that, too. I opened the Black Book and got out with my arse intact, but the way he sounded just before I left, so _sure_ that it was far from over…well, I think it's safe to assume he allowed it all to happen that way, that it plays some part in his plans. Maybe he still intends to get what he wants—you dead by my hand and me as his new Champion. Maybe he intends to punish me too, somehow, for going against him. He does nothing without reason."

Miraak tugged thoughtfully at the short, dark hairs on his chin and narrowed his eyes a little. Some of what she'd said didn't make much sense, but he didn't think she was wrong, either. There was no way she could've used the Book to escape unless the Prince wanted her to; they were, after all, bound to his will. "No, he does not. You know this, and yet you seem to be taking it all in stride."

Liv shrugged. "Well, how else _should_ I take it? I suppose I could panic, but I really don't see how that's going to improve the situation."

Miraak stared at her with mingled exasperation and disbelief. She was either absurdly careless or dumb as a stump to have not planned this far ahead. He was betting on both. "I assumed you were wise enough to have a plan in place, to prepare yourself for this eventuality. I should have known better."

The creature said nothing for a long time, becoming distant, her eyes drifting from his to stare at some point on the floor.

Miraak watched her hand drift up to her neck from where three necklaces hung; an amulet of Akatosh, a silver medallion engraved with Atmoran runes, and a pair of gold rings on a silver chain. As she fingered the latter, he felt a surge of emotions from her, brief but potent enough to make him uncomfortable; a deep stab of grief, a clawing ache for something lost and...guilt. He didn't want to understand them, but it was his misfortune that he must; they were, after all, the same feelings he had for what was taken from him. Everything but the guilt, anyway; he had nothing to feel guilty about.

"You can plan for every eventuality you can think of," she finally said, her voice and face devoid of those emotions—clearly a façade to hide them, not that it did her any good. "But what good does that do you, when it's the one you can't foresee that comes to pass?"

Seeing as how he hadn't foreseen her Shouting him from Apocrypha at Akatosh's behest or losing all his power— the least likely things that could have happened—Miraak supposed she had a point, but that didn't mean he had to like it. "So, because the unforeseen _might_ happen, why bother preparing for the things you _can_ foresee? That is idiotic."

She dropped her hand from her necklace, and Miraak once again eyed the pair of golden rings, curious now. They were of different sizes, one large and one small; one for a man and one for a woman. He didn't have to exert much mental effort to figure out what they were: rings of matrimony. So, she was married—or had been in the past; there'd been no husband to greet her when she had returned to her home in Winterhold. Now that he thought about it, there had been a moment in Windhelm, when her brother had mentioned that he couldn't wait to see his wife again, and Miraak had sensed some small measure of envy from her.

That envy, the absence of her spouse, the fact that she wore _both_ rings around her neck and the grief she felt in connection to them could mean only one of two things: the husband was dead or he had come to his senses and left her. Either way, Miraak had uncovered one of her weaknesses and therefore gained a weapon.

"I have an idea of what I need to do, and from there I improvise, let my instincts take the lead," the creature was saying. "I didn't have a plan going into Apocrypha to get you out and I succeeded. Remind me again how far all your meticulous planning and scheming got you."

Miraak glared at her. "Your instincts had nothing to do with your success. You were only fortunate enough to have a Shout Hermaeus Mora didn't know existed. You tricked him once, but now you are all out of tricks. If you think you are going to thwart him a second time and with little more than your instinct and improvising, you're a fool."

"What's the worst he can do? He can only manage a partial physical manifestation from his gods-forsaken Books, and only if you're dumb enough to open them. Otherwise he appears as a harmless but exceedingly disgusting blob of tentacles. So, he has to rely on his followers to do the brunt of his bidding."

"To whom he can grant as much power as he wishes," Miraak pointed out. "It may be a single individual or two, or _more_ , and we have no means of predicting whom it will be or when and how they will strike. He now has the advantage that you did—the unknowable, the element of surprise. If we are to have any chance we _must_ be better prepared."

Liv raised her brows in surprise and put her hands out, palms forward. "Whoa, hold on— _we_? You're considering yourself part of a 'we', now—a 'we' that includes me? Well, that's it, then. Mammoths are assuredly flying the skies, the End Times are upon us _again_ and all the planes of Oblivion have officially frozen over. Does this mean you're going to stop being a pain in the arse, now?"

Miraak sighed forcefully and squeezed the bridge of his nose with a thumb and middle finger. She was giving him a headache. "It means we have a greater enemy than each other, and it would be mutually beneficial—"

He didn't get to finish.

There was a soft _thump_ from the next room, followed by a loud _bang_ , as if something heavy had fallen to the floor.

The Dragonborn jumped to her feet, shock magic crackling to life in her hands, and then sped through the door to investigate.

A moment later, her voice sounded from Alesan's room, "He's awake! Leif, get your arse up! He's awake!"

This was soon followed by a shriek of terror that might have been a woman's, or possibly a child's.

With another sigh, Miraak arose from his seat, deciding he might as well see what was going on.

* * *

It took some time and a little patience, but Liv was finally able to coax Alesan out from under his bed. The boy was badly frightened and disoriented upon waking, almost as if he still lived in whatever terrifying moment he'd experienced in the Iron-Breaker mine. He had apparently knocked a book off the bedside table and then knocked over the table itself trying to get out of his bed, and when he had seen Liv standing in the doorway of his room, he was still too disoriented to recognize her as anything but a danger. It didn't help that she had also had Lightning Bolts ready in both hands, only adding to his sense of peril. He had shrieked and crawled under his bed to hide. Leif, groggy from his nap, had come into the room wanting to help, but Liv had quickly shooed him out. One person was scary enough for the child to deal with, he didn't need another.

Liv had sat beside the boy's bed on the floor and muttered soothing and reassuring words to ease him, but to no avail. Miraak, who had at some point appeared in the doorway, suggested she use the Bend Will Shout on the 'weakling boy' if she wished to calm him and learn what he had witnessed. There was a brief moment where Liv seriously considered kneeing him in the crotch— _let's see who the_ weakling _is, then_ —before simply rejecting his horrible suggestion. She tried, instead, to evoke Alesan's memories of her so he would understand he was in the presence of a friend and not an enemy. It had worked, thankfully, and now the boy lay on his bed, a little calmer but worn out from the excitement.

Liv sat near him at the edge of the bed, rummaging through her knapsack. She produced a red vial and held it out to him. "Here, drink this."

Alesan eyed it warily. "W-what is it?"

"A health draught; it'll make you feel better." Liv popped the cork from the bottle, took a sip to show him it was okay and then urged it on him, smiling for further encouragement.

Alesan took the bottle, frowned at it and then sat up just enough to take a drink. He grimaced and thrust the bottle back at her. "Blegh! It's _gross_!"

"Health potions aren't supposed to taste good," Liv told him. "The nastier they are, the better they work." That wasn't necessarily true, but it was something her father used to tell her when she was ill as a child and unwilling to take her own disgusting medicine, a trick that had worked most of the time. "Down the hatch, now," Liv said, pushing the bottle back toward the boy.

Alesan moaned but did as she bade. When the potion was gone, Liv took the empty bottle back and stuffed it into her pack. She reached out and pressed the back of her hand to Alesan's forehead, then his cheek. His skin felt warm now, a good deal warmer than it had been when she found him in the mine. Nevertheless, she asked, "Are you feeling cold?"

Alesan shook his head as he settled back into his pillow.

"Good. All right, now, can you make a pair of fists for me?" Liv asked. She had found all ten fingers and all ten toes frostbitten earlier when she'd examined him. She had healed them, but her basic knowledge of Restoration spells could only do so much good. She was concerned with whether or not there was damage to the function and sensation in his hands and feet.

The boy held his hands up and clenched them into tight fists.

"Now unclench them—slowly."

As he did so, Liv noticed that his fingers moved a bit stiffly, but that was normal. She took one of his hands, turned it over and ran her thumbnail along the length of each finger. "You feel that?"

"Yeah."

Liv performed the same tests on his toes next, and all was well with them too. She covered up his little piggies with the fur blanket and said: "Your fingers and toes are going to feel stiff, but that should go away in a day or two. You seemed to have recovered well and fast to boot. A little more rest, I think, and then you'll be good as new."

Alesan said nothing for a while, picking at the fur of his blanket. His brow was furrowed, and he kept gnawing on his bottom lip. At last he said: "They're dead, aren't they? Karl and everyone else. They're dead because of me."

Liv frowned and reached for his hand again, but Alesan drew it back. "We know that Karl and a few of the town guardsmen died, but we don't know that everyone did; actually, we think they might have been taken. And no, Alesan, it certainly wasn't because of you."

"You don't know that; you weren't there!" Alesan cried angrily. "Why weren't you there? You're the Dragonborn; you're supposed to help people when they're in trouble!"

"I wasn't here, Alesan, because I was helping people in Solstheim," Liv said calmly. "I'm only one person; I can't be in two places at once, you know? Otherwise, I _would_ have been here."

"Why are you explaining yourself to this _child_?" Miraak demanded from the doorway, wearing a look of utmost disapproval.

Liv ignored him. He could take his disapproval and _cram_ it.

"I'm sorry," Alesan muttered. His eyes were cast down, his shoulders tight. "I shouldn't have said that. It's my fault, not yours. It's my fault…my fault Karl died." Now his shoulders started shaking, and when he spoke his voice warbled with grief. "I should've helped him; I _wanted_ to help him, but I hid. He _told_ me to hide, but I shouldn't have listened." His small hands curled into the blanket, as if he meant to rend it in his grief and anger at himself, but the best he could do in his condition was twist it. "I should've _helped_!"

Liv put a hand on his shoulder, squeezed. "Look at me, Alesan."

But the child wouldn't; he ducked his head low, so low his chin pressed into his chest, his shoulders hunched up near his ears.

Gently, gently, Liv cupped the boy's face and lifted it. His hazel eyes, so full of sorrow and shame, went straight to her heart, already aching for him. "Nothing that happened was your fault, little cub. _Nothing_ ," she told him, thumbing through one of the wet streams on his cheeks. "You did exactly as you were supposed to do."

Alesan shook his head. "It doesn't feel like it."

"I know, but you did. If you had helped Karl, you might have been killed and then no one would be able to tell us what happened. You're the only one who wasn't taken."

Alesan ran the back of his hand under his runny nose, then wiped his snot on the blanket. Liv refrained from making a face. "I want to help. What can I do to make it right?"

"You did nothing wrong." And she would keep telling him that until he believed it, because it was true. If she had been Karl, she would've told Alesan to hide as well. Children should never have to be responsible for their adults. "But if you want to help, if you're ready to talk about it, can you tell me what you saw?"

The boy dropped his eyes from hers and was silent for a while. Liv began to suspect he wasn't ready after all, but then he started speaking, his eyes still cast down at his blanket. She took one of his hands in hers as he did, and he let her this time.

"They came at night," Alesan began. "I was taking supper to Karl and the other miners at Iron-Breaker because Beitild was making them work longer again. They came from _everywhere—_ the road into town and down from the cliffs and from around the shore."

"Who came?"

His hazel eyes lifted to meet hers, horror welling up inside them. "Monsters. They looked kinda like goblins; small and ugly, with pointy ears like an elf's, and something was wrong with their eyes, like they were all shriveled up. They were wearing weird armor, too; it looked like it was made from parts of _bugs_."

Liv frowned. _If that isn't an accurate description of the Falmer, I don't know what is_ , she thought. "Were the monsters alone?"

Alesan shook his head. "There were people too, and they had weapons and rusty armor. Some of them used magic—the goblins did, too. They even had staves. And there were metal things that _moved_. Two of them were the size of a man and the other one was little and looked like a spider. Only the guards were outside—because it was night, like I said and most everyone else was at home or at the inn. But the goblins used magic on some of the guards so they couldn't fight; they just stood there like statues. A couple other guards were lucky, though, and didn't get hit by the magic. They tried to fight them, but one of the goblins cast lightning and the metal things shot arrows at them. That's when I ran into the mine, to tell Karl and the others."

"And Karl told you to stay in the mine?" Liv guessed.

Alesan nodded. "But I watched from the door after Karl and the rest of the miners left to help the guards." He shivered under his blanket. "The goblins and the bad people and the metal things were all over the town, breaking into the houses and dragging people out. Something was wrong with them, though—the townspeople, I mean. They didn't fight back, just like those guards. Maybe the goblins used magic on them too."

"What did they do with the people once they took them from their houses?"

"Got them together in a big group. I thought…I thought the goblins and bad people were going to kill them, but I didn't see what happened next. One of those metal things saw me and was going to shoot an arrow at me, but I ran back into the mine."

"And it followed you," Liv guessed again.

"Yeah, and almost stabbed me good. I jumped out of the way when it attacked, but it still got me. That's how I got this gash," Alesan said, pressing a hand against his left side, where the wound had once been. He seemed to only realize just then that the pain was gone, his eyes going wide. He shoved his blanket down and dragged up his worn tunic to look at his side, the skin smooth and unmarred. "Whoa, it's not there anymore!"

"I healed it earlier," Liv said. She smiled, held up her right hand, wiggled the fingers. "With magic."

"Oh." Alesan tried for a sheepish smile, but it was half-hearted at best. "I _knew_ that. Thanks for healing me."

"It wasn't too bad a wound, although it would have been worse if you hadn't jumped out of the way in time. It was the cold that almost got you."

Alesan nodded. "I thought the metal thing was going to kill me for sure, though, but Karl came in and hit it with his pickaxe and yelled at me to run and hide. And I did." Tears came at his eyes again. "I wanted to come out and help, honest, but I was hurt and so _scared_. I could hear Karl hitting the metal thing over and over, and then it got quiet. I thought Karl would come and get me, but he didn't and I didn't know what to do. I was scared the thing was still there, so I just stayed hidden."

Liv saw his face start to crumple and chucked him gently under the chin. "No more tears, now. You survived where others your age might not have, and the information you've given will help me save the people of Dawnstar."

Alesan stared at her, blinking away his tears. "You really think so?"

Liv nodded firmly. "I _know_ so. Is there anything else you can tell me?"

He shook his head. "That's all I remember. What's going to happen to me now? Do I have stay here by myself?"

"No. You're going to stay with a friend of mine at my home in Winterhold," Liv said, feeling that it was the right thing to do. The boy had no one else to care for him, now. Ralof and his lot certainly couldn't do it; they would have their hands full keeping the town under Stormcloak control. And the orphanage in Riften was too far away; they didn't have the time to travel there. Liv just hoped Lydia wouldn't mind. The woman seemed to like children well enough, and it was only temporary, just until they could resolve this problem with the missing townsfolk.

Alesan stared at her with wide, hopeful but cautious eyes. "Really? You mean it?"

"Aye, but only for now. Once the people of Dawnstar have been found...well, we'll have to see."

That seemed fair enough to Alesan, who launched himself at Liv, hugging her with surprising strength. "Thank you! I promise I won't be any trouble for your friend and I'll do _tons_ of chores and help protect your house and—"

"I'm fine with you just minding my friend and doing some chores," Liv laughed, hugging him back. "For now, why don't you lie back down and try to get some more rest, okay? It'll be a few hours yet before we leave for Winterhold."

"Okay," Alesan agreed, releasing her.

"That's a good lad."

Liv tucked the fur blanket in around him once he was settled and wished him pleasant dreams. As she moved to get up, the boy grabbed her wrist. Liv looked down at him, and he stared back with a beseeching expression. He was still scared.

"Can you stay with me, just until I fall asleep?"

"Of course."

Liv sat back down on the bed. She ran a hand through his short, dark, tightly curled hair and sang to him in a soft voice an old song Leif used to sing to her when she was little and too afraid to go back to sleep for the nightmares that had awakened her; nightmares of red eyes glaring at her through the dark, of people burning, reaching out to her and begging her to save them; nightmares that had turned out to be premonitions of a sort.

Her voice wasn't that good, but it seemed to soothe the boy well enough, for his breathing soon deepened with sleep. Liv sat there a moment and just looked at him, thinking on the other Redguard who had called Dawnstar home. Seren, pregnant wife of the town's blacksmith. Liv thanked the Nine Divines that Rustleif had finally agreed to that move to Hammerfell Seren had kept insisting on. She had wanted her child to know as much about their Redguard heritage as their Nord heritage, and the only proper way to do that was to visit the motherland. The pair had left months ago after getting their travel permits and before Seren became _too_ pregnant to travel, and planned on staying in Hammerfell until the child was suitably immersed in Redguard culture, then they would move back to Skyrim. If they hadn't left when they did….well, Liv didn't want to think about what might have happened to them and their baby. Seren had probably given birth by now. Liv hoped they were all doing good.

Someone cleared their throat from the doorway, bringing Liv out of her thoughts. She looked in the direction of the noise, where Leif and Miraak were waiting and watching. Leif lifted his brows inquiringly.

Liv stood up and left the room, motioning for Leif to follow. Once they were in the common room and she was sure they wouldn't disturb Alesan, she sighed and said, "I know what you're going to say, but I couldn't just leave the boy here by himself. Ralof can't spare the men to look after him and we don't have time to travel down to Riften to take him to the orphanage. I—"

"Relax," Leif cut her off. "I get it."

Liv gaped with surprise. "What? I just made a big decision that will affect Lydia and without even consulting you, and you're _not_ mad? Mammoths _must_ be flying the skies!"

Leif gave her a strange look and then just shook his head. "I might have been mad if I thought Lydia wouldn't like it, but I think she'll be thrilled. What I'm mad about is _that_." He pointed a finger at the gladius sheathed at Miraak's left hip. "Why the fuck does he still have it?"

Liv winced. When Leif had noticed the weapon earlier, he'd nearly given birth to a mammoth. She had explained the man had looted it off a dead Legionnaire and had promised she'd get it from him once the Stormcloaks had been healed, but it had been a long night and she'd forgotten. She was surprised Leif hadn't taken it from him himself, but perhaps he had forgotten too. He had been busy all night as well, helping Ralof and some of the uninjured Stormcloaks collect the dead and prepare them for burial or pyre.

"If my having it displeases you, you are more than welcome to try to take it from me," Miraak challenged.

Leif gave him a look that could have curdled a vat of milk. He reached behind himself, gripping his greatsword, started to pull it from its sheath.

Liv grabbed his shoulder before the weapon was fully drawn. Curiously, Miraak hadn't even reached for his own sword. He merely stood there with his arms folded at his chest, an almost imperceptible smirk on his face. "Both of you cut it out. And I just forgot, Leif. I had a long night—we both did."

Leif kept his hand on his weapon and his hate-filled eyes on Miraak. "So what's stopping you from dealing with it _now_?"

Liv sighed. _It's inevitable, brother,_ she thought. And perhaps she had only been delaying it by trying to make the man earn a weapon. Much as she hated to admit it, Miraak might have made a few good points earlier. It was admittedly easier and safer to not trust him, but with the advantage Hermaeus Mora had over them, perhaps it was wiser to set aside their differences and work as one. Besides, if Akatosh could give him a chance, she should as well; she could at least try, anyway. Leif wasn't going to like it—he was going to _hate_ it, actually—but he would just have to accept it, same as her.

"I'd rather he was useful than useless, for one thing," she said to her brother. "I particularly don't want to have to constantly defend him every time we come under attack, for another, and I suspect we're going to be seeing quite a bit of fighting soon, and not just with the ones who took Dawnstar's citizens, but…with whoever Hermaeus Mora decides to throw at us."

Leif took his hand from his greatsword and dragged it down his face, sighing. "Is this coming from you...or _him_?"

Liv felt a flood of anger at that. She knew he was just trying to look out for her, but sometimes that resorted in him treating her like a child. It was _infuriating_. "We had a talk, aye, and as much as I _hate_ to admit it, he made some good points."

Leif did not look convinced. "Did he?"

"He thinks Mora has a big advantage over us, seeing as how we don't know when he will strike at us, how, or through whom. Do _you_ think he's wrong, Leif? Do you think Mora's just going to forgive and forget that I cheated him? Do you think he doesn't have some revenge planned or that he's not going to still try to get what he wants? You think he's going to allow us to see it coming?"

By the grudging look on Leif's face and the way he hesitated to reply, Liv knew she had gotten through to him. "I guess not," he grumbled.

"Miraak doesn't have to be our enemy, and we don't have to be his. We can't _afford_ to be each other's enemies when we have a bigger threat hanging over our heads. Besides, Akatosh saw fit to give him another chance, so perhaps it's time we did too." Liv raised her brows. "Unless you think your judgment is better than a god's?"

Leif made a face. "Of course not, but I won't pretend I understand it either. I know you're doing what you think is right, what you think Akatosh wants, and I'll respect that, but I can't follow you in this, Liv. I can't trust him; I _won't_ take that risk."

Liv heaved out another sigh and rubbed at her forehead with the heel of her palm. "All I'm asking is that we try to work together against our mutual enemy. Can you do that?"

Leif looked like he'd just taken a bite out of a rotten tomato, but nonetheless he agreed. Sort of. "I guess I don't have much of a choice, do I? Fine."

That was going to have to be good enough. Liv looked at the other man. "Miraak?"

"I have even less of a choice than he does."

Liv took that for an affirmative. "Wonderful. Now that we've all come to some understanding..." She looked at her brother, smiling a little. "You really think Lydia won't mind taking care of Alesan?"

"I really think she won't mind. She'll have company and she loves children. In fact, she keeps mentioning how nice it would be, not having to take certain preventive measures anymore, if you catch my meaning. She might be trying to tell me something."

"Ya think?" Liv laughed. "Might be time to start considering it more seriously, brother. I for one can't wait to have a litter of nieces and nephews to spoil. I hope you're planning on naming one after me."

Leif rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "Not everything is about you, Ego."

"The child has served his purpose," Miraak said, making that disapproving face again. "I see no reason why you should concern yourself with what becomes of him."

Liv scowled at him. "Is that because you have a piece of stone in place of a heart? He's a boy, not a _tool_."

"And _you_ are unwisely letting your emotions make your decisions," he shot back. "The child is not in any immediate danger. Your missing people are; you have no idea where they have been taken, what is being done with them or if time is running out for them. They should be the bigger priority. Instead, you would waste time better suited to searching for them to ensure some worthless boy has a minder."

Liv balled her hand into a fist. _That boy has done more good in the last ten minutes than you have in your four thousand years of existence. If anyone is worthless, it's you._ That was what she wanted to say, but proving him wrong was more important right now than insulting his worth. "Actually, I _do_ know where they've been taken—or at least I have an idea."

"Blackreach," Leif said.

Liv blinked at him, surprised. "Aye. How'd you guess?"

"I saw the same shit you did when we went down there to retrieve that Elder Scroll. The 'goblins' the lad described sounded exactly like Falmer, but it was also something else he saw that made me think of Blackreach: the people that came with them."

"What are you talking about?" Miraak said, sounding irritated.

"They were likely thralls, Falmer slaves," Liv explained. "We came across some of them before, in Blackreach. Actually, Blackreach is the _only_ place we ever came across the Falmer having slaves and we've explored dozens of their caves and every Dwemer ruin in Skyrim _and_ Solstheim."

Leif nodded. "Exactly. Chances are they all came up to the surface from either Mzinchuleft or Alftand; they're both near Dawnstar and they're both gateways to Blackreach. I'd put my septims on Mzinchuleft; it's closer to town and the shortest distance is always the safer one. Less hassle and less chance of mishaps. And a shorter distance would be better if you're relying on magic to control a lot of people and not be seen, as well. A longer distance would require more magic, so there's the risk of running out, whether it's the magic in a staff or in oneself. Or even running out of potions, if they were using them."

"Makes sense," Liv said, nodding.

"Is it not also plausible they simply took them to either of these ruins and not Blackreach itself?" Miraak questioned.

Liv shrugged. "I suppose it's possible, but my gut says Blackreach and my gut is rarely wrong. We can always search the ruins if it is; they're simple to access from Blackreach." She clapped her hands once, then rubbed them together. "Okay, so we'll drop Alesan off in Winterhold then begin our search in Blackreach. Any objections from anyone whose name doesn't start with an M?"

Miraak rolled his eyes.

"No objections, but I have a suggestion," Leif said. "We should go through Alftand to get to Blackreach; it's closer to Winterhold, so we'll save a little time."

Liv nodded. "Good thinking. We'll leave at first light. I don't want to travel at night with a child; it's dangerous enough when you can _see_ what's coming for you."

* * *

A/N: So, you might have noticed some things in this story don't agree with what the game tells us about Miraak. Just so there's no confusion, that's wholly intentional. I've brazenly twisted some things to coincide with the backstory I've created for him. I'm also aware the pacing of the story is practically at a snail's crawl right now, but I expect it to pick up in the next two chapters.


End file.
